Wish Granters
by WorldInvent
Summary: When one can grant wishes on a whim, be made privy to the heart's deepest desires or the mind's most fleeting curiosity, therein must lie a degree of solemn responsibility.  Or so all of the proceeding Wish Granters have striven to teach Jareth Choblyn.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: if you are seeking a traditional J/S story turn back now, leave this page at once. This is highly nonlinear. So nonlinear in fact that most of the similarities between the original story and this proceeding piece will be strictly character names and character flaws. I had a marvelous idea for a story that involved a hand full of characters from Labyrinth but completely out of their element. There will be no wished away child, labyrinth to conquer, or ballrooms to dance in. But there will be goblins and kings, romance and mystery; perhaps a chicken or two, and plenty (a hefty serving) of sarcasm and the nonsensical._

_I find I work better when there are people constantly peering at me from their internet corners, demanding more and being involved. I live to please my fans and it has become apparent that I have been absent for too long._

_Hold on we're going down the rabbit hole. Hold your breath and make a wish._

* * *

><p>Chapter 1<p>

"This is your last chance Jareth Ichabod Phelonious Choblyn! Answer the question: were you or were you not present at The Croaking Frog this past January the eighth in this year of our Lord Oberon cavorting with wayward mortals, half-breeds, and other such promiscuous individuals, using your power to grant wishes for your own selfish gain?"

The old man, the Honorable Hobnob had gone red in the face. It made his whiskers stand out snow white along his jaw line. He was glaring too- bug eyed and probing. To Jareth he rather resembled a pimple about to burst; the Honorable Hobnob would gush and ooze all over the crowded court room. Imagine that bit in tomorrow's gossip column, thought Jareth. He wanted to laugh at his own foolery, but knew better. Jareth had finally been caught. He knew it. But he also knew that there were other guilty parties present though hiding.

He scanned the crowd. The court room was packed, filled with curious spectators of all species: ears twitched, heads bobbed, and all eyes darted back and forth waiting with baited breath. Had Jareth Ichabod Phelonious Choblyn, Wish Granter and ruler of the impish goblin race, finally been caught? The repercussions would be severe. Would he be stripped of his kingdom? If and only if the charges were proven.

Jareth found Frederic Wobble in his drab robs that hung on him like limp lichen. Near by was the man simply known as Franz. And where was..? Yes, there was Lemmony Orwald hiding behind the giantess in blue. All three were Wish Granters.

Hobnob's voice came out through clenched teeth, "Need I remind you that Frederic Wobble swears that he saw you enter said establishment?"

Jareth blinked and concentrated on the matter at hand. "Yes I admit to being at The Croaking Frog," Jareth replied. He found Frederic's equally drab grey eyes. "But hardly alone. Sendy the barmaid sends her regards and does so desire that you would stop stealing her handkerchiefs."

Never point a finger at someone whose crime is the same as yours. The ruckus that ensued over powered Hobnob's frantic hammering with the gavel. Jareth smiled and plucked at the silk cuffs on his shirt. Frederic Hobnob would rather die than admit to being at The Croaking Frog and the very idea of the court bringing in such a lowly barmaid (a half-breed no less) was ludicrous.

It always happened this way. Jareth would be going about his merry business, granting wishes that ensured all parties had a divine time (he found such immense satisfaction in his life's work) and then someone would feel cheated. Wishes on the surface appear easy enough: someone wants something and his kind oblige. Unfortunately, though not everyone has the same desires. Prince Charming does not always desire the scullery maid; some times he rather fancies her cousin, or has no inclination to marry whatsoever. And when one fae interferes with another fae's desires problems are sure to be had. Such was the case with Frederic Wobble. Sendy the half-breed barmaid had wanted companionship and Jareth had been more than willing to oblige, and in the end she had not sent her regards to Frederic, but rather her contempt.

Places such as The Croaking Frog were considered unsavory and had the habit of tarnishing one's reputation. Frederic Wobble, the drab little man, would rather be admired than right. He granted wishes to be noticed. And the favor of the court was far above any woman.

The charges were dropped. Jareth knew that Hobnob was regurgitating his same old speech about the responsibility of wish granting- "for the soul purpose of another's happiness." A Wish Granter must never take him or herself in to consideration when seeing to other people's desires. But, argued Jareth internally, it is such a heady experience; the power, the control. With a little charm and masculine persuasion it was easy to convince a young woman that her happiness laid next to him in bed, or that all of that gold would do well being donated to his breeches' pocket, after all he was just a charitable Wish Granter, a constant giver.

Jareth realized that he had once again completely tuned out the Honorable Hobnob. He knew not nor cared what had been said or what warnings had been issued. It was past lunch time and he was considerably hungry.

Hobnob set his gavel down and left his bench. The situation was over. Jareth straightened his jacket and turned on his heal. He needed to find his valet, Marcus and go home. The man servant traveled every where with him, but had the oddest habit of wandering off. Stepping nimbly around the giantess he exited the great room.

"Marcus!" he called.

It was pleasantly cool outside, a welcome change from the stuffy court room. The grounds in their ever spring-like state were over flowing with flowers. A stout older man was examining several plants. At the sound of his name he joined his master. "Finished sir?"

"Yes. Can't believe I was drug all the way out here by Frederic Wobble. What a ghastly waste!"

"He does seem to not particularly like you, sir."

"No he doesn't. Not that I want him too, mind," Jareth said. "He's so drab and…" He twirled his fingers in the air searching for the right adjective.

"Plain?" prompted Marcus.

"He goes beyond plain. The man's very presence could make wall flowers wilt."

"Whither to dust sir."

"Yes and too much dust is horrible for good silk. Come Marcus it is past my usual lunch hour." He turned to leave.

"I beg your pardon my lord, but I do have a question," said Marcus.

They walked the path that led to the receiving grounds where their carriage would be waiting. "Yes Marcus?"

"Did you do it? Are you guilty of the accusations?"

Jareth smiled. Marcus had been with the Choblyn family through three generations of kings, princes, and Wish Granters. He understood his masters on their most primal level, but he always waited to point out any faults until he was given permission. Jareth glanced side ways at him. "What do you think?"

"I think, sir, that your are as guilty as the night is dark."

"And what of it Marcus? Why does it matter whether or not I have done anything when half of the men in that very court room, Hobnob himself I'd wager, are guilty of the same if not greater deeds?"

The carriage was not ready. Jareth was annoyed now. His day was wasted, he was hungry, and Marcus was seeing fit to reprimand him. He plucked at his cuffs. A tall glass of Dandelion nectar and a thick serving of Shepherd's Pie was what he needed.

"Yes, but half of those men are generally liked sir. They are not having their very kingdoms threatened by their misdeeds. You on the other hand-,"

"Enough Marcus!" Jareth snapped. "Enough. I understand your concerns, but I am a mature fae, well past my hundred year mark, I think I can take care of myself."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_1_

A week of excruciating calm followed. Over lunch the day after his court appearance Jareth conceded to take some of Marcus' words to heart: lie low for a while. Which when translated into laymen terms meant stay at home, perform your duties as ruler of the goblins, grant any wishes that come your way by honest means, and oh, yes, stay at home. Marcus seemed convinced that Jareth was probably being watched, spied upon as it were by spurned neighbors, and any nocturnal or even day time meanderings to certain seedy establishments would be detrimental.

Staring down his breakfast plate Jareth sighed. He loved Marcus dearly, but he could be such a mother hen at times. Not that he took some perverse pleasure in worrying his oldest and longest serving attendant, but simply staying home was simply boring. He edged his uneaten toast.

Of course there had been plenty to see to around the kingdom. Jareth saw to the general survival of the goblin race. Not a menial task to be certain. Goblins were considered the brain damaged children of the faes; tactless, unorganized, witless on their brightest days, most unorthodox group of mystical beings, they needed constant supervision.

Their misbehavior was constantly overlooked because of The Great Goblin Hoard. Many speculated that goblins were keepers of great wonders and that the hoard was the ultimate collection of spells, allusions, enchantments, and all such magic that could be cast. The rumor was perpetuated that should the goblin race be provoked they could unleash a furry that would rival any human's nuclear efforts. The truly absurd thing was that not even Jareth, their sovereign and king, was fully privy to the contents of the hoard.

In the end though, their unruly habits suited Jareth just fine. He applauded a little rule breaking. A minor havoc could be vastly entertaining and a well seasoned rumor a savory treat. But their obvious lack of functioning frontal lobes was trying. Three times in the last week he had mediated disputes involving the ownership of a rock. Then there had been questions over the matrimonial rights of the local chickens. After an hour long debate, Jareth was flabbergasted when a goblin involved raised his filthy hand and asked, "Very good sire, but why should it matter whether or not the chicken is in love? Marriage is simply the right to whack one with a frying pan!" The absurdity was too much. Jareth outlawed any and all fowl marriages right then and there.

With a sigh he leaned back from the table. At the moment he began listing in his head all of the possible disguises he could assemble from his wardrobe in order that he could slip out unnoticed Marcus appeared accompanied by a dwarf. The two had arrived to discuss the day's schedule- meetings, negotiations, and general kingdom management. Jareth had noticed that during this past week his daily schedule had become quite hectic. Between Monday and Friday it had grown to such hideous proportions that the matrimony/chicken affair had been but a cherry topping on an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Bracing himself Jareth wondered just how obese the list had grown over the weekend.

"Good morning my lord," said Marcus. "I trust that you are well this morning?"

"Not so much," Jareth replied tossing his napkin aside.

"No? Are you feeling ill? Should I call for a doctor sir?"

"No, no doctor. My ailment does not require medicine."

"What is it then, sir?"

With a sigh Jareth answered, "Boredom."

His valet glared every trace of concern gone from his aged face. Clearing his throat he took a large journal from the dwarf and opened to a particular page. "About today's meetings," he said. "Your eleven o'clock needs to be moved to two o'clock which means your three o'clock will then also need to be moved as your eleven which is now your two always runs over time."

Jareth felt his brow furrow. If he continued thus his brain was going to need a triple bi-pass. The strain of monotony was too much.

"You will also need to help mediate a dispute over the ownership of a field of turnips. I say offer to cut the field in half and see who blanches first."

Turnips- had it really come to turnips? He, Jareth Ichabod Phelonious Choblyn, ruler of the goblin kingdom, granter of wishes should be troubling himself with silks and satins, the curves of corsets and the hems of skirts, with fine bottles of aged wine and the taste of savory herbs, and not with this absurdity. If he couldn't go out for enjoyment then enjoyment must be brought in.

"I'm throwing a party!" he suddenly interjected.

Marcus blinked in surprise. "A what sir?"

"A party, a social gathering; an advantageous or pleasurable situation of some duration. Yes, a party!" He went on before any objections could be raised, "What better way to show that I am behaving myself than to let everyone in for a close examination? We'll invite all the right people- Hobnob, Wobble, Franz, Oswald- the whole lot of them, yes, every courtier, count, countess, lord and lady, king or queen! Let them all in!"

It was a splendid idea. He would be entertained and with all of the commotion- the dancing, the music, the merry making- a little misbehavior would slip by unnoticed.

Marcus made a noise from deep within the back of his throat. It was the sound of disapproval.

"I tell you Marcus that I must do something." Jareth leaned over the side of his chair. "It's either this or you find I have snuck out in the middle of the night."

_2_

Goblins made for terrible maids. If mud could clean anything, shine silver, wash dishes then they would be in high demand. In goblin society mud was the answer to any and all problems. It was even rumored that it was given to goblin children in small doses to ease colic and that it cured infertility.

Jareth cast his gaze around the throne room and suppressed a shudder born from all of the horrors that was mud. It had tainted every room in the castle save for his own personal chambers. Marcus was the only one allowed near his belongings. As for the rest of the castle, it would need to be thoroughly disinfected.

Interviews for hired help were scheduled to begin shortly. He preferred bwbachods for the cleaning though he would have to have plenty of wine about to keep them happy; a dwarf or two to attend to the gardens as well as to guard the nymphs from any harm, and a few lowly though delightful half breed fae women who knew their way about the kitchen.

That prospect alone kept his patience going during the interviews and Marcus' frequent, poignant scowls. Jareth knew that his valet suspected some underlying intentions for the party, but he kept his mischievousness close to his heart. He saw to it that Sendy the barmaid would not be among the hired help. The suspicion levels could not progress beyond a code yellow.

He alone saw to the decorations for the gathering. While every one cleaned he spent his time imagining the color scheme, the textures, and smells that would blend together to make an enticing ensemble. When he closed his eyes he saw silver and midnight blue, creamy shades of red and startling emeralds. It was imperative that everything be spotless before he willed the change. A table covered in dust before the transformation would result in soiled linen. Everything he envisioned would have to leave the invited careless and enamored. Over powering another fae would be challenging, but he was a Wish Granter and he knew what others desired.

The bwbachods thoroughly intoxicated announced that they were done scrubbing. Jareth thanked them and sent them home with a vintage case of wine that had unfortunately been corked. The little drunkards though hardly cared and left in a joyous tumult.

The castle cleared Jareth ordered that every available table and chair be brought forth and linens and the cutlery be laid out. Standing in the great hall he surveyed the scratched, dented, and stained items then raised his eyes to the vacant sagging minstrel's gallery, and finally considered the dais at the far end of the room. With a deep sigh he closed his eyes and centered his being. Suddenly his arms extended and long swirling tendrils of gold smoke shot forth quickly swallowing the room. The room warmed with the touch of his magic. As the smoke dissipated the change could be seen. The decorating was complete. He was ready to receive his party guests.

Dressed in a suit that complimented his party's color scheme Jareth met his guests as they entered the bailey. Small floating orbs of luminescence lighted the yard as several nymphs greeted guests with leis of flowers, their perfume was instantly intoxicating. Smiles on otherwise sour or wary faces flushed with delight. Jareth was confident that he had indeed prepared what everyone desired when the Honorable Hobnob appeared passing by him without so much as a "I'm keeping an eye on you" or wag of his finger. The judge was far too busy accepting his second glass of wine and laughing at a contortionist performing near by. Jareth smiled and slipped into the crowd.

Inside the great hall the elemental spirit musicians were laying with vigor. Their colorful bodies pulsed with light adding to the atmosphere. While half of the room danced the other side dined. A servant appeared and offered his lord a flute glass of Dandelion Nectar. Jareth tapped one of his heirloom rings against the side of the glass as he walked. Who should it be tonight? He thought. Should the night be spent with the hired help or a charming courtier who had completely let their guard down?

One woman in a horrid shade of green with an abundance of frills that seemed to swallow her desperately wanted to someone to dance with. Too easy, Jareth decided, and what do I get out of it? She'd probably step all over my toes.

More wine. A different pair of shoes. To go home. The nerve to ask one to dance. A bed. A chair. That honorable's wife. That husband. To go to sleep.

Jareth's smile faltered. All of these wishes were boring. He noticed Frederic Wobble approaching the woman drowning in frills and extended his hand to her. He dared to grant a wish while under another's roof? The smugness radiated off Wobble's body: see, I have made this socially awkward lady's wish come true. With a roll of his eyes Jareth wandered away.

Someone is pining for love. The desire was so weak, muffled as it were that Jareth wasn't sure he had actually sensed it. He stopped and cocked his head to the side. It was a woman. But who and where? Acting on instinct he let his mind find the desire again. The thought stirred the magic within his being and it became a beacon for him to follow. He found himself once more in the bailey. Very few of his guests were present out there, even the nymphs had begun retiring for the night. A dwarf was patting a tree with affection and bidding it goodnight.

There, by the stone steps that led to the lower gardens stood a woman. She wore a simple gown of pale purple with a few gatherings that lent elegance. Her raven dark hair cascaded in lush curls against moonlit skin. And she was pining away for someone to share this romantic, festive night with. Young and naïve, thought Jareth. He turned to the dwarf who was caring for the nymphs. "You there. Who is the young woman yonder?"

"That be the young mistress Cordilia Flora, sire. A niece on his mother's side of the Honorable Hobnob."

"Perfect," said Jareth as he moved away. Hobnob's niece letting her inner most desires, her ardent wishes become exposed in the presence of a Wish Granter- the Fates were smiling upon him!

"Be it mist or wandering spirit that lingers near my door, taunting my weary body from sleep and begging my mind for more? Shall I curse this ethereal form, send it away from my side, deny its ardent requests and be alone in the evening tide?" Jareth said as he approached her.

Cordilia turned her face towards him and smiled. She finished the quote from the ancient elvan poem, "Loneliness is mine then, for the specter is my love bathed in moonlight. She comes to my bedside, the dew cool on her brow, begging for the warmth of my embrace."

It had been several weeks of only seeing the toothy, gaping grins of his subjects and the tight lipped patronizing smile of his butler, so that this feminine display was enough to cause Jareth to stare in amazement. What a smile! Full and playful with white teeth and soft lips. He extended his hand. "Loneliness would be mine, indeed. Jareth Choblyn, your humble host," he said bending low. "Lady…?"

"Cordilia Flora. My lord." She curtseyed.

"And why do I find the Lady Flora outside? Surely there are worthy companions present?"

She turned her eyes away and played with her fan. "I… I was simply seeking some fresh air. So many people, it can be quite stuffy."

"Yes, I concur, my guests can be quite stuffy. Don't fall back over modesty," he assured her as she blushed. "Your sly remark is taken well. This may very well be my house, my party, but rest assured they are not all my guests. Forced to come for appearances' sake?" he asked her with a grin.

Her shoulders relaxed. "My uncle would rather call me a changeling and deny our relationship than snub propriety."

Jareth leaned forward conspiratorially. "Then you had better run along inside for your uncle would lay similar claims if he were to see the two of us socializing."

Those deep, rich pupils wavered for an instant. Her heart was in those pools: the opportunity to undermine her stuffy, hard handed uncle was too much. She tapped her fan against her chin. Jareth waited. Her next response would decide his tactics for the attack.

"Then be my companion my lord," she said.

Inside he reeled with glee. Her boldness was exactly what he needed. The dislike of her uncle fueled by some need to undermine his authority mated with her pheromone laden need to be with someone was an equation that would result in utter satisfaction.

To her though, he appeared quite guarded. After all he was a king and had a reputation to protect. He hummed and leaned away from her.

"Forgive me," she said hurriedly. "You complimented my honesty and I behaved brashly."

He waved a hand. "Please. We are both guilty of similar sentiments, but only one of us was brave enough to speak them aloud."

"You want to keep me company?"

"Very much," he confessed. "You are a delight, able to quote sonnets to a complete stranger and are honest. Do you know what every other court women talks about?" He cleared his throat and in a high pitched voice said, "'Oh, your highness you look magnificent! I wore this dress for you my lord!' And then they bat their eyes and draw attention to their anatomy."

Cordilia laughed. "Well at least they have good taste even if their breadth of knowledge is lacking."

"Did I detect a compliment in that slight?"

Her eyes wavered again. "You enjoy my honesty?"

Push her over the edge, he thought, let her think you are as starved for attention as she is. "I delight in it," he replied.

"Then I confess that it was more than my uncle's threats that persuaded me to come. When I heard that Jareth Choblyn was hosting a party my curiosity reeled. I have only ever admired you from afar, but I listen to what is said about you."

Jareth laughed dryly. "All the more reason you should not seek my company."

"No. Not so my lord. I think that you are misunderstood. Rules, regulations, propriety- what purpose do they serve except to cage and hold down all of our natural desires? You understand your true nature and do not deny it."

Jareth regarded her for a moment lost in thought. If he were in a marrying mood then Lady Cordilia Flora could very well make a worthy queen. In some ten minutes she had laid bare opinions and desires making him her confidant. Such blind trust would render her putty in his hands. He could mold her into the perfect mate.

Much to his relief though, he found marriage to be quite droll and ultimately burdensome. Why waste one's existence away on satisfying one person, caring only for their happiness when the whole universe was ripe with so many varied people? The exhaustion that went with solving intimate problems could simply be avoided by packing off the current occupant and then seeking a new one.

Being a Wish Granter made it all the easier. People's likes and dislikes were naked before him. Never a questioning glance, never a repetitive day. Never a dull moment, he thought.

He glanced away as if assuring their privacy. "Shall I be honest with you Lady Cordilia?"

She nodded.

"I confess that I have been denying my true nature since the moment I beheld you."

Cordilia's heart leapt, its boom vibrating through Jareth's being. His magic tingled down his arms and into his fingers. In a moment he would turn into her heart's desire and she would wish to be with him. The Honorable Hobnob's niece would be compromised. Of course the affair would have to last a least a month for utter humiliation to take place. A minor inconvenience spent with a lovely woman.

Her hand was on his arm. "Don't deny yourself my lord."

Briefly he wondered how she perceived him. Was he her knight in shining armor come to rescue her? Or a romantic rogue ready to set her free?

Suddenly she was moving down the stairs into the lower gardens. She glanced back and beckoned him with her fan. A faint trail of gold mist followed her. His magic was ready all he had to do was follow. Fun time, he thought as took the steps.

Her thoughts were strong. He could feel them in the air as he breathed. Desire. A kiss. Embrace. A secret kept from her uncle. She even went as far as to envision what his bed chamber might look like. Romantic and forbidden that was how she saw him.

"Lady Cordilia?" he called softly, searching the shadows.

"Here."

He was before her, holding her arms and her gaze. Then he was kissing her, warm and soft tender flesh that was eager. She tasted like strawberries and sugar. Jareth lost himself in the taste, in the alluring quality that was all woman. Her young body melded to his, all of her thoughts centered on one thing. The magic was seeping through his finger tips, he could feel it. Soon it would encase them in a warm cocoon transforming and transporting them to wherever she desired.

Jareth waited for the warmth. It never came. Roughly Lady Cordilia pulled back. "So sorry," she said.

What- sorry for what?

She smiled cryptically at him. Before he had time to react all of the lights went out, his home vanished and he was left in total darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

His fingers still tingled, but all of the warmth was gone along with the lights. Lady Cordilia was still pressed against him. Her skin had a faint lavender scent that he hadn't noticed before. The sounds of the party were muted as if he were encased in a giant bubble or had been plunged under water. "What happened?" he asked.

Lady Cordilia's breathing was calm and measured.

"What happened?" he again demanded. "Cordilia?"

He pulled away concerned. His magic hadn't activated, but the air was humming with it. Had he been attacked on his own grounds? Was Lady Cordilia Flora a master sorceress?

Cordilia suddenly hummed. "Such a shame," she said. "We really would have been good together."

"What?" he stammered, completely letting her go and stepping back.

With another one of those insanely calm hums Lady Cordilia Flora was gone. Her presence vanished. Now Jareth was worried. The darkness pressed in. He squared his shoulders. "You are dealing with a fae king, an anointed Wish Granter with the High King's blessing!" he proclaimed to whoever or whatever was lurking. "Show yourself!"

"Calm down," said an omnipotent voice. "I know very well who you are. And at this very moment your title means nothing."

Jareth turned trying to locate the source of the voice. "The council will not stand for this! Holding a Wish Granter captive is a very serious offense!"

"Captive?" asked the voice with amusement. "You don't recognize my voice do you? You never did pay attention to your elders." The voice cleared its invisible throat. "This is the Honorable Hobnob and I assure you that the council is very aware of your predicament. You've been caught red-handed Jareth Ichabod Phelonious Choblyn."

Jareth froze in panic as a series of chuckles escaped the disembodied voice of the judge. The judge. His niece. The naivety. The wishing. He had blindly walked into a trap. "You set me up," he said. His anger rose like a white hot rod. "You set me up, you miserable cheat!" he yelled.

"Humph! You merely gave in to your own slippery vice my boy. Do you know," Hobnob continued with relish. "how Wish Granters are punished?"

Jareth was shaking his head as anxiety over took his anger.

"Jareth Ichabod Phelonious Choblyn, ruler of the goblins and Wish Granter, you are hereby suspended from all kingly duties and shall be stripped of your powers. While you await your trial you shall pass the time in the mortal plane. However long that will take. Goodbye."

An invisible tendril slipped over Jareth's shoulder. "Leave me alone!" he shouted. "Don't touch me! Stop! NO!"

The darkness took on a coldness that immediately seeped through his skin, down to his very bones. He groped in the dark vainly pushing away the ice cycles that permeated his being. They couldn't take his powers! They couldn't send him away! The cold finally immobilized him, rendering him helpless. He felt the ground give way and he fell, his body jerking in alarm shattering into millions of tiny frozen shards.

There was no warmth. No sense of being; just constant cold. Was this what living as a mortal felt like? Numb to anything? Jareth had often wondered about the significance of living the mundane life. They were always toiling, working towards some elusive goal. Oddly enough that goal always seemed to be happiness; that warm, welcoming sensation. Was that because humans lived in constant frigidity? And all the while the goal, the relationships, the jobs was in hopes of one day thawing out?

Jareth shuddered, the first real movement he had in some time. Now not only was he cold, but his subconscious mind had finally accepted his predicament. He had been cast out of Eden. There would be no more satins, silks, or fine linen of any sort. Briefly he wondered if mortals still hand spun their cotton. His smooth skin would crack and peal in a matter of hours. Another shudder rippled through him. Without his magic he was nothing.

From the darkness a rough covering fell over him. The material itched and smelt funny, but it melted away some of the ice. At least he wasn't going to freeze to death.

Still there were other cruel facts to consider. Aside from not knowing how to cook, wash, run water, or for that matter know what sort of abode was awaiting him there was this ordeal with Hobnob. Jareth had been set up, pushed from the ledge. This gnawed at his insides. The Honorable Hobnob had finally proven himself to be not so pious. The judge's vendetta would be complete when Jareth was convicted of his crimes and given a permanent residence in the mundane world. For the first time in his hundred and fifty years Jareth wanted to punch the Honorable Hobnob's red, puffy face.

With a moan he pulled the covering over his head.

He awoke to day light playing over his face. His pupils felt dry and each blink, drug sand across the membrane. With great effort he rolled to his side. Every fiber of his body protested the movement. There was a vague recollection of glasses of wine and Dandelion Nectar. There had been a party. That's right. He was simply hung over. Nothing that a warm meal from Marcus won't fix.

Marcus knows better than to draw my curtains so early, he thought, cursing the ray of light. He snuggled into the pillow and taking a deep breath sough out the familiar scents of his chamber. Unfortunately he smelt nothing familiar.

In a rush the facts came at him. He bolted up in the strange bed with itchy sheets. Nondescript furniture- a chair, a dresser- and pale grey carpet greeted him. The sunlight peeked through thin blue panels of fabric that served as curtains. He wanted to yell and curse. Dropped like an old shoe into this!

Gritting his teeth Jareth got out of the bed and approached the window. Where in the mundane world was he? The curtains pulled aside the sun light was an intense force blinding him and pricking his skin. Squinting he looked out on to a rather barren landscape. Scrawny plants with sparse foliage and thorns, a few grayish succulents, and not a patch of grass in sight. Across the way were nondescript buildings also lacking any grandeur and color. The Mighty Oberon protect him- they had dropped him in hell. "Bogwater," he swore.

His stomach growled.

He had been stripped of his powers, reduced to a title-less mortal, dropped in hell and was hungry. Morbidly he thought, from frying pan to fire. He shut the curtains. Better find out if they intend to starve me.

Out in the hall the grey carpet continued. The walls were unadorned and white. Jareth rolled his eyes. There was another room directly across from him and another further along. A clatter made him stop. The hallway was short ending abruptly in another large room. An entry way to the right was blocked from sight.

It could be an intruder, or worse, he thought, a guard to keep an eye on him. That would be just like Hobnob, one more way to humiliate him. Not risking any chances Jareth scanned the surroundings for some sort of weapon. A lamp from a small side table served well. He hefted it in his hand only vaguely aware of more furniture and the smell of something burning.

He rounded to the right ready to attack. Marcus' old grey head was bent over a frying pan. "Marcus!" Jareth exclaimed. Relief flooded him. Setting the lamp aside he hugged his valet. "The Fates be blessed, you are here with me!"

Marcus chuckled. "There, there my lord. A good morning to you too."

"Oh I could kiss you old man!" He stepped back and smiled instead. "How are you here?"

"I was sent here. I am tied to the Choblyn family Jareth- wherever you go, there I must be also." He turned back towards the frying pan. "That and the Honorable Hobnob couldn't have you mucking about unwatched."

Jareth withdrew slightly. "So you know why I am here?"

Marcus had fried eggs and toasted bread. "Yes. Do you? Sit down then."

Jareth sat at a small table. "I misused a wish."

"Caught red handed as I understand it. How abashed you look my lord for being guilty of said crime at least a hundred times over."

Jareth chuckled at the quick flood of fond memories. "Hardly abashed; annoyed. I was set up Marcus. The Honorable Hobnob laid a trap and I walked blindly into it."

Marcus sat across from his master and served them both breakfast. "Quite the elaborate setup."

Jareth mused. "I know I irritate the man, I admit to that. But his vendetta is outrageous. Tell me honestly Marcus, am I any more mischievous than my father before me?"

"No sire."

Jareth laughed darkly. "I should have threatened to have unleashed the Horde on him."

Marcus made a sound deep in the back of his throat. He knew that noise. It preluded warnings, cautionaries, reprimands. Jareth found himself leaning forward. "What is it?"

"I am not sure my lord. Has it ever seemed odd to you just how many times you have been drug before the judge? Every fae is allotted indiscretions. It is part of our nature to be a little mischievous, but haven't you ever felt singled out?"

"My dear Marcus you know very well that I make no effort to hide my short comings. I am well aware that I have ruffled some very refined feathers."

"True, but there are other judges and with your record there no doubt should be multiple plaintiffs."

"Of course… there was-."

Jareth stopped unable to compile a list. There was only one name on his lips; one name that connected with nearly every complaint ever filed. "Frederic Wobble." He clenched his teeth.

Marcus reached across the table. "Sire, you are bending the cutlery."

The abused fork hit the table top with a loud clang. Jareth's hand balled into a fist.

Marcus spoke, "It is one thing to humiliate your enemy and another to completely dethrone him; take his land and his possessions. A very elaborate set up."

Wobble and Hobnob were in it together. But to what end? What were they after? The kingdom was hardly the wealthiest among the realms. Goblins were not ecological or economical; their cleverness only excelled in their mayhem. You wanted something to go bump in the night, you employed a goblin.

"My subjects will eat him alive." Saying so offered some consolation. "He will make a play soon."

"He all ready has. I know that early this morning a meeting occurred within the courts and Wobble was present. A kingdom cannot wait in limbo while its ruler is absent."

"He will begin his take over in a temporary guise. Hobnob will see to it that I never get my fair trial."

Jareth glanced around the room. Stuck on the mortal plane with no powers and an old man while his kingdom was being taken over, such were the state of things. His eyes went back to Marcus' graying head. At least he wasn't alone. "Wait a moment Marcus, how do you know that there was a meeting this morning? We've been stripped of our powers."

Marcus sipped a cup of tea. "Correction, my lord, you have been stripped. Me, well, I am operating with one arm tied behind my back as the saying goes. The channels are open to me, but I cannot perform much. Had to manually turn on the stove and such. Which brings us to another pressing issue."

With a ragged sigh Jareth pushed away from the table. The idea of food made his gut twist. "What now? Am I to learn that there is no running water? Or worse yet, that I shall have to beat my clothes clean at the local stream?"

"Not exactly. The Royal Trust is seeing to your basic needs- rent and utilities as well as nourishment. But the funds are limited my lord."

"And?"

"There will be grocery shopping, laundry, up keep."

Jareth regarded his valet. Marcus was planning an extended stay on the mortal plane. "He plans to turn me mortal, doesn't he? Leave me to forget and be forgotten." He could feel the anger returning, the flames being fanned by the winds of irritation. "I am going to have to work," he said.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The courts had banished him to a city called Phoenix in a state named Arizona, located some where in a northern hemisphere continent. Not quite hell, though it boasted triple digit temperatures during the summer months and received minimal annual rain fall. Looking out at a window at the sand and rocks, Jareth once more felt the heat burning his skin; a threat to boil his insides. It would not be long before he felt dry and cracked and would have to begin a rigorous moisturizing routine and use an ointment called "chap stick."

At least there's no mud to worry about, he thought humorously.

Behind him he could hear Marcus moving about the small living quarters dusting and tidying the all ready clean furniture. There was a rustle of paper. Glancing back Jareth noted that Marcus had arranged the stacks of various newspapers so that the want ads were on top. A silent thought poignant reminder of their current situation. Marcus had allowed him the first day to feel his wrath and perhaps even experience self-pity before he had ventured out the next morning, pocket jingling with mundane coin to purchase the papers. Never mind affording lotion for his pampered skin, he needed to find work in order to survive.

He turned away from the papers. As a Wish Granter he had been privy to everything and anyone. As a member of the royal household he had never been for want and thus had never done or said anything he hadn't wanted to. Now Hobnob and Wobble were forcing him; each step into the mundane world built up another side of their confining box. And to add to the irritation, the why of it all eluded him.

So, he thought casting his gaze to the washed out blue sky, do I accept the chaos of the unknown, or do I fight this for the sake of what? My pride?

His skin tingly and hot Jareth turned away from the window and picked up the first stack of papers. There was still some hope that was cultivated that this was merely a bad dream. Or that someone from the courts, amid the Internal Council might take notice and press an inquiry. He desperately wished a channel was open to him, so he could at the very least talk to one of his subjects.

The want ads were proving to be useless. A barista? A bike messenger? And landscaping- out of the question! As the day progressed Jareth found himself in a rather paralytic state. Overwhelmed and still very angry.

The night passed with very little rest. Jareth was up before Marcus had begun breakfast. Dressed in some unknown synthetic material and a pair of shoes that pinched his toes he unannounced that he was going out for a walk. At the open door he was hit by a million new smells that at one moment blended and the next faded in and out. The air was at once acidic and sweet, smoky and moist; and underneath it all was the smell of the earth struggling to survive. The sun had not yet fully risen so the coolness of the night lingered. Jareth took a deep breath and inhaled the strange new city.

As Jareth reached the street corner his senses were assaulted with the fumes of passing cars and the sounds of thousands of bodies in motion. The pursuit of happiness, of warmth was in full swing. Stepping in with a small crowd he walked their rhythm. Instinctively his body fell into the calm state of listening, his Wish Granter habits taking over. Jareth blocked out the distracting smells. Instead of hearing thoughts though he was acutely aware of every conversation whether it was between two people or an internal dialogue played across a face.

Slowly his anger morphed into curiosity. What curious creatures were these mortals. Emotions were worn with pride yet used carelessly. Brows furrowed. Orders were shouted. Gossip was being traded. Others held back tears while some became animatedly excited.

One woman was speaking into a small talking device. Her face was stone, cold and stern, but her voice held venom. She was threatening to remove someone's manhood if a deadline wasn't met. Jareth chuckled half amused, half frightened. He followed her until she turned into a building. It didn't take long for him to become attached to another person- this one hell bent on the comfort of a small dog she carried in a tote.

Jareth traded one conversation for another, fixated on how his ability had manifested its self. His latest fascination stopped under an awning. Several others were clustered about as well. A massive transport screeched to a halt at the curb. People filed on and off. Jareth stood still coming out of the trance realizing that he was hungry and tired. As the transport pulled away into the flow of traffic he also realized he was lost.

Bog-water, he thought with a sigh.

The leisure walk had turned into a maze of buildings and sidewalks and he had dropped neither bread crumbs or trailed a red string to find his way home. He let out a low growl. He had walked out without taking note of anything. In one moment he had given the Honorable Hobnob exactly what he desired.

"Well, hey, there sugar," said a woman.

Jareth looked to his left. A woman was leaning against the support beams of the awning gazing at him. Jareth saw her mess of brown curls and noted her coy, full lipped smile. Such features were his weakness. Then he noted her plunging neck line that revealed barely useful undergarments and a short skirt. This was a woman of ill reputation. Jareth knew her sort and it surprised him to find one out socializing so boldly. Perhaps mundanes weren't so cold and boring.

"How do you do?" he replied with a thin smile.

"I like that accent sugar. So refined and… sexy."

Perhaps if he had breakfast before venturing out or had not walked so far then Jareth would have been more on his guard and simply walked away. He watched one of her hands pass over her body suggestively. All of his bent up anxiety twitched and poked him with a white hot rod. Here was one reckless, tactless, unplanned, unforced thing he could do. And he did such things very well.

There was a brief exchange of words, more compliments and sly smiles, and she had him down a dim alleyway. At first Jareth assumed she was leading him to her quarters, up a flight of stairs or around a corner, but then she pulled him behind what smelled like a trash bin. Her hands were all over his body. Jareth kissed her- she tasted like the city.

The woman pulled back. "Money first Johnny."

Jareth laughed and smiled crookedly. "My name's not Johnny."

"I'll call you whatever you want and do you well for fifty."

This time Jareth pulled back. What was this talk of money? Gifts or tokens were never even discussed until a much later date.

The woman nodded and smiled. "A hundred if you want more than my hands."

The smell of the trash bin burned his nostrils. "I, I don't have any money."

No, he thought, no money, no powers, no influence; nothing to offer.

The woman pulled a face, but then quickly recovered. "How about a nice watch or a ring?" she pressed.

This was all wrong. She was too eager, making him think of the stupid trap with Cordilia. Jareth began to back away, detangling his body from hers.

A siren flooded the air. The woman shoved hard against his chest and tried to run away. Confused Jareth grabbed her wrist and demanded she stay and explain matters to him. Two vehicles pulled up, one at either end of the alley blocking them.

"It's the cops, you idiot," yelled the woman.

A man in a dark blue uniform was next to them. He spoke with authority. "All right you two, break it. Hey man, now don't add assault to the charges," he said prying Jareth's fingers from around the woman's wrist.

"Charges?" asked Jareth.

A badge gleamed on the man's chest: Officer Brent. Law enforcement. Jareth closed his eyes and scowled.

"Candy this is the second time this month," Officer Brent was saying. "We're going in this time. Shiltz take him."

Another officer was jerking Jareth's arms behind his back and directing him towards one of the vehicles. Jareth obeyed. Law enforcement: they were the one group of individuals that Wish Granters avoided the most. Officers, detectives, cops, all asked for too much information, wanted too many personal details. Things such as real name and home address were impossible to give out. Being currently lost in a foreign place with no identification, and no powers to speak of, left Jareth at the mercy of the law enforcement.

At the local precinct Jareth sat hand cuffed next to an officer's desk. He had remained polite and cooperative during the whole ordeal though he was painfully embarrassed. At the moment the arresting officers were speaking to the woman, Candy. Jareth tried desperately to reach out with his mind to know whether the man was lying or not, to know how Officer Shiltz and Brent felt about him.

Slumping back into the chair he moaned quietly and whispered Marcus' name. His valet would know what to do. He would help him out of this mess. If only he were here.

Officer Brent was in front of him holding out a pad of paper and a pen. "Write down your full name and any details about where you are staying that might help us."

At the moment the officers believed him to be visiting from some European country and he had wandered out and gotten lost this morning.

Jareth wrote his name, "Jareth Ichabod Phelonious Choblyn."

A good name. A creative name. A name that had been hissed in disdain and whispered in rapture. And now a name that meant nothing. Well, nothing, except 'pervert', he thought taking up the pen again.

His mind once more on his beloved servant and the security he provided Jareth began calling to mind the nondescript dwelling place he now occupied. Marcus' grey head bent over a frying pan; the vegetation that grew just outside, then the street corner with the people rushing past him and how he had stood there entranced and horrified all at once.

Surprised Jareth blinked and looked at the note pad: he had sketched out an interpretation of his thoughts. The one of Marcus was soft lined while him on the street corner was heavy handed and dark.

The chair at the desk squeaked as Officer Brent occupied it. "Well Mr. Choblyn, I have good news," he said. "First there won't be any charges filed. I am letting you off with a warning."

Jareth raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Look I talked with Candy." Officer Brent leaned on the desk and tilted his head closer. "She said you really didn't seem to know what you were doing, that you didn't even have any money on you."

"It is true."

"Is this the first time you ever, uh, tried to pay for it?"

Courtesans, companions, women of ill reputation- while these were rather frowned upon in his world Jareth was certain that they were not illegal. Just as he was certain that despite keeping one entertained with gifts, a man never out right paid for the company of a woman. He nodded his head letting his embarrassment show.

"Then let it be your last. Look I understand it: life gets tough, things stress you out, and you want desperately to blow off some steam. Then join a gym. Take up kick boxing. Stay out of the alleyways. You unemployed right now?"

"You could say I am in between occupations."

Officer Brent nodded his head as if that confession held all of the truth and meaning of the universe. "Say, did you draw that?" He reached for the pad of paper.

"Yes. I was thinking about the place that I am staying. The place I have no idea where it is. It isn't much."

Officer Brent shrugged. "That's the second bit of good news. Your grandfather is on his way over to pick you up."

"My grandfather?"

"Yeah, said you had left early this morning on a walk. When you didn't come back he got concerned. If we hadn't of picked you up I think he would have started calling hospitals."

"Good ol'granddad."

Officer Brent indicated the note pad again. "This is really good."

It was Jareth's turn to shrug. "I have always had a knack for envisioning things."

"Could you replicate this?"

Jareth smirked. "Given better circumstances and lack of certain wrist adornments." He paused and jingled the cuffs. "I could do better."

As Officer Brent unlocked the cuffs, he said, "Look you seem like a decent guy who is just struggling to find his way; could maybe do with some direction. I know a guy, he runs a small publication." He turned and reached for a rolodex. "He is always looking for new talent. You should call him."

Jareth took the copied information and for a moment just stared at Officer Brent. This man didn't know him from Adam yet here he was helping. Perhaps the Fates were really on his side. He was being given a chance to get some dignity back. "Thank you Officer Brent. I am most grateful."

Across the precinct's room he saw Marcus enter in full concerned grandfatherly mode. The familiar sight allowed Jareth to take a deep cleansing breath. His servant had saved him. He wondered just how much Marcus was indeed working with; the strings that had to have been pulled and reworked to achieve such a smooth outcome.

He stood with Officer Brent and extended his hand. "Again thank you."

"Look keep that head clear." He pointed a finger at his northern most extremity. "And that other one in your pants and you will do just fine."

Marcus had played the role of anxious grandfather well. Once outside the precinct and riding in a cab though he dropped his concerned façade, turning to stone. Jareth glanced sideways at him. "No hug this time?" he asked.

Marcus grunted.

Jareth let him be. At the apartment the two went through their customary routines: Marcus tending and Jareth being tended. As he sat down to eat a reheated breakfast Jareth realized that Marcus was hovering quite close. Here was the parent side of Marcus, waiting patiently to be let out. One glance at his valet's face told Jareth that this was going to be their worst confrontation yet.

"Yes Marcus?"

"I should like you know my lord that as of this afternoon I am seeking out a new station."

Jareth was on his feet. "You're leaving me?"

"Yes my lord."

This was unlike Marcus. He should be reprimanding him, leading him towards humiliation and thus to repentance. Jareth was capable of guilt, however small or meager, and Marcus was his conscience that brought him there. Bogwater, he thought and roughly sat back down. "Go trotting after Wobble. He's the one with the castle and the servants. It is where you belong."

"Jareth Ichabod Felonius Choblyn you are a selfish brat!"

Once more Jareth found himself on his feet. Marcus was a stone edifice ready to take any beating. "Marcus you are out of line!"

"No. It needed to be said and I'll gladly be the one to tell you. You have shamed me Jareth and that is reason enough to leave. I have looked after you ever since you came to me leaving the nursery and your nanny. Loved you like a son and put up with your shenanigans. But I won't stand by while you purposefully ruin the Choblyn name."

"I have nothing left! Ruin what?"

"You haven't been sentenced yet. When your trial happens-."

"When? When it happens I'll be so mortal it won't matter!"

"And do you wish to be found without dignity? Without honor? Do you want your father's name to be nothing more than a crude joke?" Marcus' face was flush and his eyes were moist with emotion. "You could have come to me. Did you not think that my counsel would be better than that of a whore?"

Jareth had never seen Marcus in such a state before. He had gone from mothering hen to patriarchal punisher.

"Tell me Jareth do feel any responsibility for what has happened? After the day's events it certainly appears as if you don't."

The room fell silent as Jareth absorbed his words. Did he feel guilty? Did he not see how the majority of his predicament was his own fault? For two days he had been operating on anger, moping about as a martyr. Hobnob had trapped him, true, but the snare had been lade with one of his own most prominent vices. Women.

Women had been his distraction and amusement. So blinded was he by the beauty of one he had nearly sold his birthright.

Jareth's pricked mind alerted him to the fact that since his banishment he had given very little thought to the well being of his subjects. Now he wondered how they were faring under the new regiment. Wobble had no stomach for mayhem or filth. What methods of organization might be in employ caused Jareth to wince in sympathy for his goblins.

He looked Marcus in the eyes. "Don't leave me."

"Then give me your word that there will be no more women."

Jareth swallowed. "No more."

"And you will try to save what scraps of dignity you have left?"

"I am a king. It is time I started behaving as one."

Marcus took a deep breath. "You are not just any king. You are a fae king."

"I lost my self Marcus. Is there any hope for redemption?"

"Always. Your food is getting cold my lord."

Jareth sat down yet did not begin to eat. He had almost lost Marcus, his oldest friend and confidant. Guilt flooded him. Clearing his throat he took a bite of eggs. Though slightly rubbery from being reheated they were seasoned to his taste. It had been prepared with care and intent to please. Jareth watched Marcus put a kettle to boil and tidy the kitchen. "Marcus, the food is excellent," he said.


	5. Chapter 5

_Nonlinear: A property of a system whose output is not proportional to its input. I did warn you...  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

"I need you to employ a goblin," Jareth said to Marcus.

It was a late evening and the two of them sat in the small living room. Marcus had picked up one of the recently purchased papers and was reading the latest mundane news.

Jareth had been biding his time in thought. Without powers he could not communicate with anyone on the other side, and he needed to talk to one of his goblins. Mortals could employ a goblin with the use of a proper conduit, for instance calling upon a Wish Granter or seeking out a magic practitioner. The latter tended to be very unreliable as most were merely humans parading about as warlocks or voodoo priestesses. That and their fees tended to be abysmal or their methods very messy. The third option was to know simply know a fae. Jareth had Marcus.

"What was that my lord?"

"Employ: to hire or engage the services of. You will employ a goblin and you, Marcus shall be my conduit." Jareth unfolded himself from the couch cushions. "We need someone on the inside, to be where we cannot."

Marcus neatly folded the paper. "Your subjects will be delighted to see you again."

"Yes. I have missed the snot riddled, muddy little darlings. We will have to be careful in case our actions are being monitored."

It was decided that upon retiring to the second bed chamber Marcus would call forth a goblin. The contract would be that Marcus' room mate needed to be evicted and a good scare would hurry the process along. The following night the hired help would gain access to Jareth's room via his closet. Marcus promised a month's worth of toe nail clippings and a week's worth of garbage in payment.

For the intermin Jareth told Marcus about Officer Brent's employment suggestion. The idea of callusing his already dry hands caused Jareth to shudder and he wanted advice on the matter. Marcus raised an eyebrow and said to name the Fates blessed and call the man as soon as the goblin matter was sorted.

Throughout the next day Jareth felt frequent lapses of excitement. Minor as it was he being crafty. The act lifted his spirits. That night dressed in new pajama pants and covered under fresh linens he neither looked nor smelled like his usual self. At a quarter past midnight, the appropriate witching hour well under way, he heard the creaking of his closet door. To most it would be no more than a house ache, the boards falling into further rest. Then came the scurrying- a mouse rushing for the cover of under the bed.

Under the covers Jareth smirked. At least his subjects had not grown lax in their talent.

At the moment he felt extra weight at the foot of the bed Jareth lowered the covers and said, "Boo!"

There was a flash of amber irises that shot open in alarm and then such a shriek that a neighbor two doors down awoke with a start; cats hissed and dogs howled at the sound. The goblin went flying backwards off of the bed to land with a thump on the floor.

Jareth peered over the edge of the mattress. It was a very little known fact that though goblins were by far the most crafty at all things puckish, that though they would give a good fright, they were also terribly easy to scare. Various fae physicians blamed this malady on hyper tension and mud was frequently ingested as an attempt to stave off such reactions. Jareth's simply "boo" had rendered the creature unconscious. His scare partner with scraggily red hair was slapping his face.

"Wake up! Wake up you fool!" she said. She glanced up at the bedside. "Your majesty!"

"Good evening," said Jareth. "There you are Fash. Hope the fall didn't break anything?"

Before the fallen Fash could reply his companion administered one more slap to his face. "Leave off Meep!" he cried.

"Just making sure," said Meep.

Fash got to his feet. "Sire! To be broken by you would have been an honor. But, I don't understand? You have a room mate problem sire."

Meep said, "I always thought that Marcus was too clean."

Jareth rolled his eyes. "Never mind about that at the moment. Did only you two come?"

"Nah, Dink and Wink are standing by just inside the closet."

"Fetch them both."

As Fash ran back inside the closet Meep scrambled up the bed side. She sat on the bed knob peering closely at Jareth. "It is really you," she breathed. "The Fates be blessed- you can end our torment and come home."

"Things so bad back home?"

"We've been forced to bathe, sire, twice a week!"

Jareth clucked his tongue and shook his head. "Outrageous," he said.

Out of the closet two more figures appeared. Slightly taller than Fash they still only reached the height of the box springs, unless one took into account the blue horns on top of Wink's head which the wearer was currently smearing with a dark, moist substance. Jareth sat up and bent his legs under him. "Miss me?" he asked.

The recognition of their king resulted in instant joy. The goblins climbed the bed and repeatedly reached out to touch him as if reassuring themselves of his presence. They missed him. They needed him. And he would fight to be reunited with their whole kingdom.

"King come home now?" asked Dink.

"We need you," urged Meep. "Remember the baths."

Wink growled. "Forced to bathe!"

Jareth fingered the blue horns: the substance proved to be mud. "I applaud your small act of rebellion."

"Wink will to anything to annoy Boring Boss," said Fash.

Meep said, "He drags mud into the throne room. Chases chickens down the halls."

"Wink farts in Boring Boss's chamber!" exclaimed Dink.

His companions rolled with laughter.

"Boring Boss? Is this what you call Lord Wobble?" asked Jareth. "Why?"

"Because he never does anything sire," answered Meep. "He spends his days roaming the castle, opening and closing doors, and then orders everyone to clean something."

"We haven't had a decent fright in weeks," bemoaned Fash.

"Opening and closing doors?" Jareth repeated. He rubbed his chin in thought. "Now why would he be doing that?"

All four of his subjects exchanged wary glances. Fash nodded his head at some unspoken decision. "His is looking for what we guard the most, for what we pride ourselves on. He seeks The Great Hoard."

Jareth felt his mouth fall open. The Great Goblin Hoard. Fredderic Wobble was actually seeking out the source of every goblins power and might. If he had access to The Hoard, why, he could make every knee bow before him. With all of the spells, enchantments, tokens, talismans he would be an unstoppable force; a single fae to reign supreme. That is if he figured out how to use it. The Goblin Horde was its own pandoric box and Jareth did not like the possibilities this venture possessed.

Wink was grumbling. "Bogwater," he said. "I should hex him. Bathe him in mule spit."

In his mind Jareth concurred. This was going beyond his pride and kingdom. "The Mighty Oberon," he murmured. The High King could even be in danger.

Meep spoke, "Don't worry sire. We won't let him find it."

"No," said Jareth. "I trust you will not. Few are privy to its whereabouts. Even I do not know and I am your king."

"King not goblin," said Dink simply.

Jareth smirked. "No, I am not. Well now that you lot are here I need your help. I cannot come home. I," he stopped, debating on how much to say. "I am being justly punished, I broke a law, but I will not stay here. I am doing all that I can to come home. By all means continue to trip up Lord Wobble. I mean that figuratively and literally. Give him bruises," he said giving Wink a nod. "Be goblins. I also need a law book brought here."

It was then explained that any further comings and goings should be strictly through Marcus' closet, or in a pinch through a neighbor's.

Two nights later Jareth dreamt that his powers had been restored. Gold smoke swirled around his body in a lover's embrace. He felt such relief and happiness. His dream self turned to share his joy with someone. Jareth awoke though, empty and lone, before he could see who.


	6. Chapter 6

_Someone asked me if the elven poem quoted earlier, I believe in chapter two was my own: yes. I wrote that just for the occasion. I have a mission for you darlings, I like to use good quotes in the intros of my books, some times chapters; something that really speaks to the spirit of the piece. I have quoted Nick Cave, David Bowie, among others. I am having trouble with this one though. All I keep hearing is Jimmy Cricket singing "when you wish upon a star..." but it doesn't seem to fit. Suggestions precious ones?_

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><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

Using a talking device, or telephone as Marcus corrected him, was an odd experience. A series of numbers dialed not only gave you sound, but connected you with an individual as well. And how humans loved to be connected. Talking devices were everywhere in many forms. Why humans hadn't simply evolved for the use of telepathy was beyond Jareth. With a snort, he placed the call to the publication company, Stonewall Publications. The telephone was cool against his ear which helped ease the heat that had suddenly flooded his face. Jareth realized that he was filled with anxiety. Unable to have any advantage over the situation, except the words of Officer Brent his arresting officer, made his stomach clench and his heart rate accelerate. Suppose this human was disinterested- what would he do?

A receptionist answered and transferred his call.

Charm him like you would a wisher, he thought.

Richard Stonewall, owner and manager, was brisk and direct. "Been waiting for you to call," he said immediately after introductions. "I needed someone yesterday. I'm on a tight deadline and I need an artist who can work now and be done in two weeks, maybe less. Can you come down this afternoon?"

All of the flattering adjectives he had picked out died on Jareth's tongue. "Of course," he replied. "Where do I go?"

The address given Richard Stonewall hung up with a hurried, "Be here."

Jareth hung up and stood staring at the telephone. He was going to have to learn to take orders. With everything that he had all ready given up, with all of the altering of habits, he had to swallow hard down on the urge to give up.

Stonewall Publications was in the downtown quarter. The cab that Marcus secured for the drive had to drop them a block away due to traffic. Jareth once more experienced that moment of awe as the city smells and sights greeted him. Why humans felt the ridiculous need to pack as many buildings together as possible and then fill them with people baffled him. With the heat, the combination was stifling. All in the name of the pursuit of happiness, he thought entering the business complex. It made it him yearn for the persistent spring state of home.

Inside the main lobby Marcus made for a small seated area. "Go on without me," he said sitting down.

"You're not coming with me?"

"I hardly think it prudent for your grandfather to be seen with you during your interview."

"And a servant would seem even odder. The Fates be blessed," he said turning away.

"The Fates be blessed," returned Marcus.

Jareth consulted an office directory to find that Stonewall Publications were on the fourth floor. He glanced around expecting staircases and when he found none his brow furrowed. Instead he observed curious compartments that let people on and off. If telepathy was un-evolved then telekinesis certainly had to be out of the question. There was a sudden ding and a flash from an over head light and the doors slid open. People stepped out. Jareth watched the doors then slide shut. How did one gain access?

Open sesame, he thought bemused.

A young woman approached the doors carrying a messenger bag. After a pause in which she cast Jareth a lopsided grin and a quirky wink she pressed a button on the wall. Promptly the ding sounded and Jareth followed her, rather foolishly, into the compartment. Inside the young woman pulled back her long brown hair and asked, "Floor?"

He stood behind her. "A lower enclosing surface under your feet," he said.

She laughed lightly. "Which floor are you going to?"

"The fourth floor."

"Same as mine then."

She pressed a button with the corresponding numbers. Jareth found that there were plenty of times that he had to remind himself of the advances humans had made over the centuries. Their use of electricity was rather like their own form of magic.

Once out of the elevator the young woman made a bee line across the room past a receptionist's desk and disappeared behind two glass doors. Jareth stopped at the desk. "A Jareth Choblyn to see Mr. Stonewall," he said.

The receptionist had been something she ought not to have been. Her eyes kept darting down to a half opened drawer next to her chair and there small crumbs scattered over her key board. She cleared her throat and wiped cautiously at her mouth before telling Jareth to go right in, that he was expected.

That woman would wish to never have to diet again, he thought passing through the doors.

The inner room was an open work environment. Small clusters of people were reviewing notes, others worked side by side with drawing boards elevated. One group was tossing a small ball at random intervals to their companions. From a gathering of five off to the left side of the room a tall lean man with streaks of grey in his otherwise jet black hair stood up. "Yes what do you want?" he snapped.

There were piles of crumbled paper littering the floor around the man. More paper was stacked halfhazardly. Jareth noticed that most of the men at the table had calluses on their middle fingers and that their wrists were smeared dark. He absorbed this in a second or two. "I am Jareth Choblyn. You must be Mr. Stonewall?"

"Yes. Jareth I'm in a pickle, a real jam. One of our best artists walked out earlier this week leaving me with a ship load of deadlines and a water logged crew. Sit down. Samuel, make room."

Samuel brought in an extra chair and Jareth settled in. The stacks of papers proved to be rough sketches of birds.

Mr. Stonewall continued, "I need a picture involving birds that represents standing out, being unique. We have here exotic birds, imaginary birds, birds of every different color, but nothing that has satisfied our client. Give me your best shot."

Jareth glanced back and forth between the table and Mr. Stonewall. "Best shot? You want me to draw you something right now?"

"Not just something, a dang good something."

Samuel handed Jareth a blank sheet of paper and a pencil. Mr. Stonewall had said he wanted a bird representation of unique. Bogwater, as if he knew what made a bird unique, but he did know what them dull. Pigeons were dull. Shades of grey with the slightest spattering of green and purple iridescence made for a boring bird. A thought suddenly jumped into his head: courtiers were not like pigeons. Courtiers loved color: canary yellow with azure blue, emerald green with sunset orange. And frills- lace, ruffles, bows, and tatting. He clearly saw in his mind the woman from his house party that had been drowning in frills. She would make for one crazy, ridiculous bird.

"Hey it looks like you gave the pigeon a perm," said Samuel. "That's kind of funny."

"That should be colored pink."

"And the background kept simple, just a suggestion of a park and other pigeons."

Jareth drew his head back. His bird was hideous with plumage that was extravagant even by court standards. He had even given his creation a beauty mark.

"That took fifteen minutes," said Mr. Stonewall.

"Timing me were you," said Jareth distractedly. "I haven't much experience with birds. I could do something with peacock feathers, but you said you needed unique not an advertisement for aesthetic surgery."

"Peacock feathers: a pigeons idea of a phalloplasty, eh?" joked Samuel.

Mr. Stonewall offered him a two week trial. If Jareth could prove that he was always this quick thinking and clear visioned he would have a happy home among them. So long as he never caught him sniffing permanent markers or eating glue that was. "Keep that sort of weirdness at home," he said escorting him to his work space. He was to share a work area with the woman from the elevator. Mr. Stonewall introduced her as Sarah Williams. "Surprised to see you in today kid," Mr. Stonwall said.

She smiled and wrapped her fist against the desk. "Knock on wood sir. So far so good."

"This year is it, I can feel it. That curse is lifted! All right Jareth, here you are. Flesh out that bird drawing." Mr. Stonewall hurried away.

Unaccustomed to such abruptness Jareth was ready to move after him. He was a king after all and no mortal was going to order him about. He would work for this man, but he would only do so with some manners, respect. Not only that, but he hadn't a scrap of paper or any other artist supplies. Marcus! Marcus was still down stairs in the lobby.

"He takes a bit of getting used to," said Sarah Williams. "Don't get angry."

Jareth plucked at his cuffs and cleared his throat. "Not angry. Just-."

"Annoyed? It's all right."

"Well, I need to tell a friend not to wait for me in the lobby."

Sarah Williams was twirling a pencil and openly scrutinizing him. Jareth met her gaze wondering what it was she saw. Surely he wasn't so easy to read. With a final twirl of her pencil she said, "There's a phone in the corner. Dial one to call the lobby. I'll share some supplies when you're done."

On cue the phone rang. In an attempt to feel some control again Jareth answered it. Of course it would be for Miss Williams, no one would be calling for Jareth Ichabod Phelonius Choblyn. No one other than Marcus knew he was here, subverted to a working class commoner taking orders from mortals and having a gaze-sparing match with an unattractive woman. Bogwater- his pessimism was out of control again. He handed the phone to Miss Williams.

The moment after "hello" she lost her confident stare and dropped her eyes. The call was short. "Look, umm, feel free to borrow paper, pens, whatever. I-I have to go."

"Are you all right?"

She was hurriedly picking up a few items and shoving them into her messenger bag. "Nothing, just my stupid curse."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"Someone dies on her birthday every year?" Marcu' disbelief was evident.

"Dies or is mortally injured," said Jareth.

His two weeks had passed quickly at Stonewall Publications. On the day following Miss Williams' bizarre exit, he had sat down to work on the bird assignment only to be interrupted. A lovely dark skinned woman entered the work area. "She's gone then?" she asked.

Jareth had looked up. "Miss Williams?"

"Yeah. She got a phone call, didn't she? Poor thing."

Without further invitation the woman shared the Stonewall Company's deepest secret: Sarah Williams always celebrated a birthday with a calamity. A death. An injury. A mauling. A suicide.

Jareth tapped his fingers against the book on the table. Marcus raised his eyebrows in impatience. "She has been with the company over five years and in that time she has never had a happy birthday. She refers to it as her 'curse.'"

"I wonder if she has a Welch attached to her."

Welch: an unseen negative force that attaches its self to hapless beings, feeding off of life's negative turns. "I thought about that. A Welch does tend to feed off of negative energy, but then this only a yearly occurrence."

From down the hall two goblins appeared carrying a large book between them. Law books were in abundance in the other realm and goblins could read very little resulting in the comings and goings of multiple volumes. This Saturday afternoon was spent in research. Jareth needed to understand the laws regarding banishment, yet so far he only comprehended some land ownership rights and the basics of taking a mortal spouse.

"How does she cope?" asked Marcus.

"Her work I suppose."

Meep appeared table side. "Sounds like the lady could use a good mudding."

Jareth scowled at her and shook his head.

She shrugged. "Works for me. It's good for warding off Welches."

"Yes," said Jareth as he bent to take the large book from the other goblins. "But the lady is not a goblin, and therefore mud will serve her no good. Now be a dear and find something in the kitchen to amuse yourself."

This new book was twice the size as the last one and its cover bore the Wish Granter emblem: a heart encircled with mist tendrils. For we deal with matters of the heart, thought Jareth opening the book, no matter how dark or good the intentions.

A quick glance at the content page told him that this was more of a guide book than a law book. There were guidelines on wish crossing, wishing for a dearly departed, and to his great amusement, the steps for dealing with half wishes or more commonly known as "wishful thinking." Usually these wishes happened because of a fleeting thought or a fancy that came and went half-hazardly, dismissed for its absurdity or the individual's moral convictions. To Jareth they were by far the most fun wishes. More than once he had persuaded an individual into conviction and produced a bit of mayhem, an action the guidelines advised strongly against. The memories made Jareth' fingers tingle and he rubbed them absently together.

There was a clang from the kitchen. He looked up: Meep was examining pots and pans. Marcus was admonishing threats that the stove was off limits.

With only a quarter of the book left Jareth found the section "In Case of Banishment" followed by the subheading, "You Do Not Need Magic to Breathe." He supposed the words were meant to be comforting. He found them annoying. Breathing may be an overstatement, but it certainly made survival easier.

It was obvious that the Honorable Hobnob had been made privy to these rules and regulations. Banishment was indeed the punishment for misusing a wish for personal gain and the promise of a fair trial had been issued though it lacked any timely fulfillment. Jareth' eye caught sight of a very revealing sentence. "Restitution," he said aloud.

"Rest in Ution?" said Fash.

"Where's Ution?" asked Meep.

"Ution!" bellowed Dink from under the table.

"Did someone sneeze?" asked Wink.

Dink was out from under the table. "Tissues!" he exclaimed, happily grabbing a box full from a near by ledge.

"No," ordered Jareth as removed said box from the goblin's hands. "Restitution: restoration to the former or original state or position. Restitution, my fine lot. Marcus, I can find favor in the High Courts' eyes again."

Marcus was showing Meep how to use the microwave. "And how is that my lord? Short of kissing the Honorable Hobnob's feet and becoming his bathroom attendant I cannot fathom him granting you a pardon."

"How very crude," remarked Jareth. "A little goblin maybe rubbing off on you yet Marcus. It comes down to restitution- see the heading?"

According to the hand book a banished Wish Granter could prove his or hers sincere repentance by performing the Ultimate Wish. The definition of the Ultimate Wish was the fulfillment of an individual's ardent desire without magic. Creatures, potions, et al were forbidden. A fae in bad standing who performed the Ultimate Wish would find himself immediately transported to the High Court where with the aid of the Wish Department King Oberon would review your case.

"Expedites your trial," observed Marcus. "Did you note the warning my lord?"

"'Any attempt to deceive the workings of an Ultimate Wish will result in immediate and permanent banishment to the mundane world,'" read Jareth. He sighed. "To forget and be forgotten. Tell me Marcus, why is it I am just now reading this book? One would think that all Wish Granters would have their own personal copy."

"Its contents go beyond basic tutorage. It must be assumed that any well intentioned Wish Granter would seek out such knowledge of their own accord."

"So my father didn't even have such a book?"

"Not that I recall. But then again I'm merely a servant and all of the workings of granting have never been made privy to me."

Jareth hefted the book and looked at it thoughtfully. "I tell you Marcus that I had no idea such a book even existed. Truth, I had hopes of finding a basic law book, but there are intricate workings in here that I was not made aware of until I began to be called into court. Something tells me its contents were prevailed upon the other Granters, but not me."

"Are you suggesting it was purposefully withheld from you?"

"I don't know. There has been something about my situation that has been gnawing at me. My family has ruled over the goblin race for generations. The Great Goblin Horde hardly a secret. What if Hobnob saw something in me, something that my father and his father lacked, and decided to cultivate it? Molded into a perfect pawn."

Jareth looked at Marcus, his face had gone hard his brow pulling down. The expression was either anger or disbelief. He would never suspect Marcus of being in league to subvert him. No, this was outside his family. Hobnob employed Wabble and the two of them coerced Jareth into this current predicament. The lure of the Great Goblin Horde had proved seducing to them, but to what end? Total other world domination? Then there had to be other players; followers who thought Hobnob and Wabble could bring on a new world order that suited their tastes.

"Fash, Meep, come here. You see this book. You are to go to the houses of Franz, Orwald, and Wabble and find out if they each have a copy. I expect an answer within a few days."

Picking up the guide he left the kitchen and wandered into the living room. He felt the weight in his hands, such a formable book. Casting his eyes around the room Jareth wondered if he had been destined to fall. The negatives began to tally in his mind: subterfuge, banishment, magicless, forced into labor, cotton fibers…

And now I have to get to know a stranger, he thought, I actually have to spend time with someone. For a man who was used to being made privy to every thought or emotion this new prospect frightened Jareth. An intimate relationship had always been strictly physical up until this point. But he had to. There wasn't a question as to whether or not the task was a necessity, it had to be done, whether in a week or in a year.

The smell of charred meat wafted into the room. With a wince Jareth begged the Fates to let it be sooner rather than later.

The following morning at work Jareth' mind was full of ways to satisfy the Ultimate Wish without leaving his comfort zone any further. Perhaps a simple cup of cold water would do it or holding open a door. His brow furrowed. These were polite gestures, hardly ardent desires.

Jareth noticed that a large crowd was waiting by the elevators. Apparently one of the lifts was closed for maintenance. Everyone was running late for work on account of having to share one compartment, including himself. He glanced around. He knew what every impatient cross worker desired. At this moment everyone wanted the other lift to start up. "Be fixed," he muttered making a small gesture with his finger. The caution tape stared defiantly back at him.

"I know, wouldn't that be great? Just a little flick of the wrist and problem solved. Too bad we both forgot our magic wands this morning."

Sarah Williams was next to him mimicking his gestures. Adjusting her messenger bag she turned to look at him. How sad her eyes still were. "I have been an awful cubicle buddy," she then said. "I hope that you are settling in well?"

"Yes, the job suits me fine. Today is the official end of my trial period."

Jareth watched as she made a quick study of his face and then looked away. Together they boarded the crowded elevator. Jareth punched the number four button for them.

Through his coworkers Jareth had learned that Sarah Williams more often than not never talked about what calamity had befallen her. Her birthday two weeks past had been avoided topic. It seemed she only candidly confided in her boss and the dark skinned woman, Alice Sears. Gentlemen even with his black streak did allow a lady to suffer un-consoled. Behind them one coworker had ear buds in, listening to some racket while others were painfully lost in thought. "I am sorry," he said presently.

She laughed quietly. "For what?"

"For whatever happened… on your birthday."

Surprise filtered through her eyes. A slight blush was rising to her cheeks and she purposefully swallowed. Had none of her coworkers thought to say something so simple to her? The elevator dinged and they exited. Sarah went to their work space while he stopped to speak with the coloring department.

When he arrived at his desk Sarah had stepped out, leaving several drawings out on her desk. Jareth had caught glimpses of her work during her sporadic schedule the last two weeks. It seemed frequently Old Hallow's Eve themed. In fact the two laid out both involved musical instruments being played by skeletons. She had even begun to color one of them: the performing corpses were outside a cantina, surrounded by the sparse foliage of the desert.

"Snooping Mr. Choblyn?" Sarah was back and staring down at him with a smirk.

"Hmm, yes, I have caught you coloring behind your bosses back," he replied keeping his eyes on the drawing.

"Ah and you're going to what- confiscate my crayons, my box of colored pencils?"

Jareth returned her smirk with one of his own. "Admiring would be more appropriate," he then said. "Miss Williams this is very good. I like your use of the reds and blues in the flowers."

She took the piece from him and surveyed it at eye level. Jareth watched her eyes squint, scrutinizing some detail that displeased her. "But not good enough," she said dropping it. "Mr. Stonewall has no need for another colorist."

"Shame."

Again her eyes filled with surprise. This time she shrugged though and retied her ponytail with more severity. "I see that we are keeping you then?" She nodded at his work space and the new assignment.

"I assume so. There hasn't actually been any official word. Just a new assignment."

"That's a good thing."

"I thought at least I would have a meeting in Mr. Stonewall's office."

Sarah shook her head. "That would be a bad thing. You never want to get called in to Stonewall's office, it's the reaping floor in there." She pulled out her chair and got comfortable in work space.

"Blend in and go native?" he asked.

"Yep."

"Should I start kicking my shoes off under my desk as well then?"

It was a habit of hers that he had picked up on at once. Secure in her work space, pulled up to her desk Sarah William's would remove her shoes and work barefoot. At the moment her poorly hemmed trousers were hiding her toes. Jareth liked the casual way she swung her legs. "Provided that they don't smell," she answered.

Chuckling Jareth turned back to his work.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Near the end of the day all Jareth wanted to do was stretch out flat on his back. Bending over pieces of paper was proving to be strenuous: his lower back ached. Then there was the mental exhaustion. If deciding the matrimonial rights of chickens had been irksome then the detailing on this new project was the extreme of inane. It was a shoe advertisement and the client had a decided number of eyelets and how far out the tongue could appear, and then there was some nonsense about how the drawing made the fabric of the shoe feel. Mr. Stonewall came by to discuss this latter point with him and there was no other solution than for Jareth to go shoe browsing. "You know touch the fabric," explained Stonewall. "Does suede entice you more or does synthetic? Go touch some shoes."

Jareth wanted to say something about stuffing the synthetic material in the clients' eyelet, but thought better of it. The last hour of the work day was spent with his coworker Samuel at two near by shoe stores. In the end it proved a useful excursion. After some time spent in lower class simplicity it was nice to order someone around and have his needs met while contemplating finer things.

Returning home with visions of laces, embellishments, and dainty feet in his head Jareth was light hearted. He would have a simple dinner with Marcus and check in with his subjects about the guide book; a quiet ending to a long day.

There were emergency and law enforcement vehicles pulling away from the apartment complex. Jareth felt a strong stirring in the pit of his stomach and the prospective taste of dinner dried up in his mouth. Something was wrong. He knew it in a rush of conviction.

The landlord and an officer were waiting for him at their apartment door. The elderly gentleman, his grandfather, had taken a rather nasty fall and a neighbor had called for help. When the officer offered to give him a ride to the hospital Jareth nodded and proceeded to ignore any concerns or condolences the landlord was blabbing on about. Marcus was hurt and that alone consumed him.

Human hospitals smelt of stale air and harsh disinfectant. Hardly a healing smell, mused Jareth as the automatic doors slid shut behind him. He doubted the attending doctors even knew about arnica and its uses to prevent bruising. There should be chamomile and lavender scented candles burning as well. Marcus loved chamomile.

His valet had not even been given the decency of an actual room. On a second floor wing he was secluded behind an ill serving privacy curtain. Jareth took his hand. "What happened? Are you in pain?"

"Jareth, I am all right," he assured him. "I fell."

"Marcus you have the balance of a royal dancer. You never so much as stumble."

Marcus inclined his head and dropped his voice, "Mundane air is a bit heavier. I over extended my reach while dusting a high shelf. I tumbled before I even knew what was happening."

"The Fates bless the neighbor who helped you. You're not badly hurt then?"

"No. Truth be known my body has all ready seen to its needs, but the doctors, well, let's just say my human age causes them to be extra careful."

Jareth sat on the edge of the bed and rested his chin in his palm. "Oh Marcus what a pair we are."

"I told you, I'm fine. This is not another item to add to one of your pessimistic ledgers. I'll be cooking breakfast by tomorrow morning."

"Bogwater you will," snapped Jareth raising his head. "I shall speak to Meep or Fash about helping. You and I both need to accept how things are here in the mundane world and you shall have some extra assistance around the apartment. Have you had dinner this evening yet?"

Marcus had not eaten and the dinner he had prepared was now half-hazardly shoved in the fridge courtesy of the concerned neighbor. Jareth took a mental note that, that particular neighbor's closet would be respectfully treated by his subjects. He told Marcus that would he go and find out if there was a commissary of sorts in the hospital and get them some refreshments.

At the elevator Jareth was completely taken aback to see Sarah Williams. She wiped frantically at her eyes in distress with the sleeve of her shirt. Her hair was falling out of its ponytail. She more dragged than carried her messenger bag. Jareth sought his handkerchief and approached her. "Miss Williams?"

"Mr. Choblyn, I didn't expect to see you here." Her hands began fumbling in her pockets. Jareth offered his handkerchief. The elevator dinged.

"Is something the matter?" he asked after they stepped in.

"Oh nothing, I'm fine. I'm just a walking disaster is all. Stay away from me Mr. Choblyn unless you want to take an extended stay in here in the hospital. You know it's not like I'm a bad person," she went on, wringing the handkerchief. "So why is it that bad things happen to those around me? It's like I'm a giant bad luck magnet that gets switched on once a year."

Jareth stood silent for a minute hesitating to press the call button for the ground floor. "You are referring to what you call your 'curse'?" He pressed the button.

"Yes." She balled her fist and slammed it into the handkerchief. "And here I am pouring my heart out to a total stranger. It just gets to me. You have no idea how isolated I feel. There is this ever present fear that anyone I get close to will get hurt."

"I could fix that."

He had said the words without much forethought. All he knew was that here was a problem that was life consuming, worthy of an Ultimate Wish. All she had to do was make the request; desire it to be fixed. Instead she scrunched up her face and looked at incredulously. "Seriously?" she bit out. "Don't you think it's a tad tasteless to be hitting on me right now?"

"Hitting on you? What?" Jareth was confused by her reaction and he shook his head at her.

"Yeah, 'I could fix that for you'- wow, if that doesn't top the lamest come-on list."

Come on. Hitting on. Flirting. He finally understood. "I most certainly wasn't hitting on you!"

"Oh poor helpless me, damsel in distress!"

"You misunderstood me. You are hardly my type."

Now she was glaring at him. The elevator door dinged and slid open. Sarah ignored it. "Now you want to add insult to injury? Argh! That's what I get for trying to open up to anyone."

The elevator door slid shut.

Jareth took a deep breath through his nose and turned to face her directly. "I say again, I was not coming on to you. It would be very obvious if I were. You have a problem, well guess what princess, so do I and if someone came along offering a solution to my predicament I would hear them out."

She met his gaze. Jareth could clearly see her pupils bouncing sideways, up and down taking in his face. "Even if it sounded crazy?"

"Especially if it sounded crazy."

"Well unless you're a voodoo doctor or a magical wizard," she said and turned toward the console to punch a button. The elevator door dinged again. "You cannot help me, no matter how innovative your solution."

She was right about him. Underneath the angst and the sarcasm she had said exactly what he was, and yet she was storming out of the elevator before Jareth could convince her. Humans, he yelled in his thoughts. For the third time the elevator door closed. It was a full minute before he remembered that he was supposed to be finding food for Marcus.

The hour was late when Jareth finally returned to the apartment. The doctor at the hospital had decided to keep Marcus for over night observation. In the dim light from the stoop lamp Jareth thought about a nice cup of tea to relax with. Sarah Williams had tensed him up, irritated him. He had made a genuine effort, a bit tactless perhaps, but honest. Realizing that he had no idea how to even work the stove to boil water made his shoulders ache.

"Breathe," he told himself. "The stove must be turned on. There are knobs along the back. Turn a knob and produce heat."

Gradually he fell into his habit of defining. A knob turned on produced heat. Heat would boil water. Run water from the faucet into the kettle and place kettle on the heat that would bring it to a boil. The dictionary of his mind gave him something to concentrate on and he began to calm down.

The goblins appeared as he was about to go to bed. They informed him that the Honorable Hobnob was vacationing at their castle. "The bog he is," responded Jareth.

"Wink has left bruises," offered Meep as consolation.

"We have had to get creative," said Fash. "They expect our mischief now. Simple toppling of buckets of water and trip lines are becoming less effective."

Jareth knew that they needed help. If only he had someone of slightly higher intelligence at his disposal; someone who could converse with Hobnob and Wobble as equals. He didn't though. "Has anyone an Ear Horn or Recordable Eye?" he asked.

The Ear Horn and the Recordable Eye were espionage tools available for a price to anyone who wished to know something they shouldn't. Amused he hoped the Fates noted he was probably the first Wish Granter to ever require the devices' assistance.

Meep said, "I think Flop has an Eye."

Jareth hummed thoughtfully. He would have preferred an Ear Horn: less conspicuous. "Put the Recordable Eye wherever Wobble confers the most. We need actual evidence. Oh and what of that book I sent you out to look for?"

"All of them had a copy," replied Fash.

The following day at work Jareth effectively avoided Sarah Williams despite their close quarters. He had his shoe piece to finish; as of that very morning the client decided to have the piece done entirely in black and white. Such details that the coloring department normally took care of were left to him and his pencils.

He absorbed himself in the work. Frequently he admonished his tactics by thinking things such as, 'She was a useless track, too messy' and 'another opportunity will arise.' Sarah Williams certainly wasn't the only human being with troubles and passionate desires. The world was full of desperately-seeking-happiness humans. So why did his fingers twitch and tingle when she leaned near to him and told him that he had charcoal on his cheek?

"Here." She offered a wet wipe.

Jareth leaned back and briefly studied her. Down cast eyes. Has been biting her finger nails; he noted her red cuticles.

"Look I think I should apologize or at least explain myself for yesterday," she said.

He glanced at her feet: she had put her shoes on for this conversation. He had better be respectful in return. "Perhaps we both should," he offered.

"Life gets you crazy some times, you know? I'm not normally such a confrontational person, but unfortunately you were and you took the blast and the shrapnel. Sorry."

Where it was coming unhinged in an elevator or accidently finding a prostitute, Jareth understood Sarah's sentiments. Both of them would probably benefit greatly from a hobby. Jareth had a cousin who painted by numbers and knew of a court member who trained acrobatic cats, both parties claimed great relief from their past times. Jareth met her eyes. "Sorry I came across as a bit of a creep," he said.

She gave him a lopsided grin. "It's just about lunch time. Want to grab a sandwich and an iced coffee? There's a diner right around the block."

The diner was crowded with those not only looking to escape the office for an hour, but with those who sought refuge from the heat. Despite it being early October ice tinkled in every glass, jackets were shrugged off, and top buttons undone. Sarah ordered them both roast beef on rye and two iced coffees before heading to the one free table in the diner: a seat in front of window catching the afternoon sun. Jareth watched her sit, her back taking the full force of the heat. She smiled. "I love sunshine," she admitted. After a pause in which their food arrived she said, "I suppose I should tell you why I was there."

"At the hospital?"

She nodded.

"Miss Williams you don't owe me an explanation. We have apologized to one another, and further more it is none of my business."

"You made it your business the first time you asked if I was all right. Not many people ask any more." She sipped her drink and focused on the contents of her cup. "As long as I can clearly remember I have never had a happy birthday. Oh sure I might receive a really thoughtful gift, but it is always overshadowed by someone getting hurt. Last night I was at the hospital visiting said someone."

"I see." This information was not now to Jareth, he had learned as much from sparse office gossip. "I hope this misfortune doesn't extend to all forms of celebrations. Don't tell me the Tooth Fairy abandoned you as well?"

He watched her eyes dart anxiously from cup to plate and back again.

"Obviously I hit a nerve." He apologized.

"Well I am laying myself bare here. Lot's of exposed nerves to be hit. It's just that no one has ever run into me before at the hospital and, like I said, nobody hardly even asks after me any more. I didn't know what to say to you."

"To be far, I said some very ungentlemanly things; such that I wouldn't normally say to a person I hardly knew."

"Ah, yes. I believe you stated that I wasn't your type."

There was a shift in the conversation. Sarah Williams knew how close the door on her private thoughts. She had opened up to him; given him a small glimpse into her life. For Jareth it had been a great accomplishment. Perhaps getting to know someone wouldn't be so hard after all. He cringed. "Very ungentlemanly."

Sarah smiled, full and inviting. "Some day I might just ask you what your type is."


	9. Chapter 9

_****Ah the holiday season! It has been keeping me busy, but here is a fresh chapter as my way of saying "happy christmas!"_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9<strong>

In a tailored grey toned suit Lemmony Orwald stood on the street corner an intersection away.

For two months now Jareth had been living as a mortal and thinking like a fae. With the help of his subjects he had kept certain greedy palms off The Great Goblin Horde as well as secured steady employment. He had even been able to afford a pumpkin for a proper jack-o-lantern during Old Hallows Eve, which delighted his otherwise bored goblins. Life at the nondescript apartment was simple, while things back home were frustratingly slow.

Two months. No one had come to visit him. He had not received any further instructions about his situation or notices about his trial. There had been a near complete lack of magic, and seeing Orwald made Jareth shift to the balls of his feet ready to rush at the Wish Granter, to be near his power. The feel of magic was that enticing.

Controlling the urge, Jareth ran his eyes over his fellow Wish Granter: he was in the process of granting. Nonchalantly Orwald fell into step behind a man in a royal blue shirt. Jareth followed at a distance. Outside a flower shop the man paused briefly, his upper body shifting while his feet remained forward. Orwald closed in and with a gentle brush of his fingers sent the man in to a full turn, walking towards the flower shop. Jareth smiled remembering the first few seconds after granting: there was a rush to the head and a warm tingling sensation that sent hair follicles racing and lifting over your skin.

"Do you have any spare pixie dust friend?" he asked gaining Orwald's attention. "I seem to be fresh out."

Orwald turned. His eyes snapped wide in surprise. "By the Full Moon- Jareth Choblyn!" He paused and assessed Jareth. "Dear me, the rumors must be true."

"My absence is enough to encourage rumors; how delightful. I am missed then?" asked Jareth dryly.

"Yes, to a degree. Judging by the synthetic, ill fitting, excuse of an outfit you are wearing the rumors must have credence."

Jareth scowled. "Nice to see you too."

"You have dark circles under your eyes!"

Jareth leaned away annoyed. Lemmony Orwald was every bit as pampered as Jareth himself had once been. Where Jareth understood the satisfaction of a double entendre, Orwald preferred bluntness. "Yes, yes, I am well aware of my condition," he snapped. "I have been living as a mortal. Matters could be…better."

"My latest client would concur." Orwald nodded his head towards the flower shop.

"Complicated?"

There was a crash and the man who had moments before gone in with hope, was stumbling out confused. Orwald cleared his throat. "Married," he corrected.

A man in a green apron came storming out of the shop as well, shaking his fist. Orwald's client was doing his best to look apologetic. For a moment the two Wish Granters watched and then turned away, knowing that laws forbade them for interfering.

Around them the bustle of an approaching Friday evening was increasing. Traffic began to slow in the streets and lines were forming outside several small restaurants. Jareth sought the smell of the season through the fumes of the city: the air was cool with a hint of moisture. The high country could see snow in the next night or two, while in the valley it would a chilly and wet Yuletide. No gifts would be exchanged this year in the lowly Choblyn apartment. But perhaps they could make do with a Yule log. Jareth liked that idea.

Orwald cleared his throat. "In all seriousness Jareth how are things with you? Your house party was the last time anyone saw you. There is talk that another Wish Granter occupies your home. The Honorable Hobnob has been very vague on the matter and the rest of the council has been mute on the subject."

Jareth clucked his tongue. The Fates help him if the entire council was after The Great Goblin Horde. Of course who would question Hobnob? A judge dispensing punishment where the law was broken- nothing suspicious there, so long as one never asked the whys or the hows.

"Jareth, old boy, whatever is it? Come now, we were nursery mates after all, you can tell me."

"I broke the cardinal rule of Wish Granting."

Orwald snickered. "We've all been guilty of that at one time or another."

"Yes, but I broke it with a certain Honorable's niece."

"I don't know whether to say 'ballsey move old boy' or call you a complete idiot."

The two of them stopped a window display feigning interest in the holiday spread. An electronic Santa danced to some dance number in one corner while another shook his grotesquely swollen stomach. Between two such sad excuses for cherubim, the makeshift alter was littered with every toy imaginable.

"Either sentiment finds me here," rejoined Jareth. "Awaiting my trial."

"For two months though?" Understanding came across Orwlad's face. "Oh Jareth! Hobnob is going to bury you."

"To forget and be forgotten here in the mundane world. I won't let it happen though; I can't. I intend to gain the attention of the High Court." Jareth let that sink in. "Oberon will have to hear me out."

Orwlad whistled. "You're actually going to attempt an Ultimate Wish? That is ballsey. You are guilty, aren't you Jareth?" Orwald sought his fellow granter's eyes in the reflection.

"Is not the man who offers temptation just as guilty as the one who succumbs to it? You're not dumb Orwald, you know that there is more here than what I am choosing to reveal. I am not asking you to back me or wear my colors, but I am asking you for your help."

"Sorry Jareth, but you know the law: an Ultimate Wish can have absolutely no magical influence."

"Ah, but I am merely after knowledge. Keep your magic for other sorry chaps and their sordid love affairs. Do you still keep company with that woman from the Wish Department? Find out if she can access the Tainted Mortals file. I need to know if the name Sarah Williams is listed."

Jareth saw skepticism and mischief flash intermingling on Orwlad's face. "And what do I get for my troubles?" he asked.

Jareth grinned. "Free drinks at the Croaking Frog for the next millennia?"

Orwald's face went blank. "And?" he asked.

Jareth plucked at his cuffs. He was going to have to give big in order to ensure accuracy. "The names of my top two wishers," he offered.

Oswald turned away from the electronic Santas to stare at Jareth. "You're serious. Very well. I will help you."

"Good. Call on me where I am staying when you get the information. I don't believe I need to stress to you the importance of being inconspicuous."

Orwald smirked and tipped an imaginary hat at him. "The Fates be blessed, old boy."

"The Fates be blessed, Lemmony."

As Jareth made the nearest bus stop he made every attempt to convince himself that looking into Sarah William's predicament was nothing more than a precautionary step; a little insurance. He very well could not even begin to think about an Ultimate Wish for her if she indeed was suffering from a Welch. Welch detachment took strong magic. A normal fae would have to be well rested, with a full well of magic to safely detach and then bind such a negative force. Besides, he thought as he climbed aboard and began the ride home, her birthday is still nearly a year out; too long to wait to grant a wish.

At the apartment Marcus with help from Meep had prepared a full three course meal. As Jareth sat down his work bag his valet offered him a glass of wine. "Marcus, it isn't even Christmas yet!" he exclaimed. The wine was a blush, drier than Dandelion Nectar, but the closest thing he had to it since his banishment. "Very good," he murmured taking another sip and following Marcus into the small dining area.

"One should dine well during the season," said Marcus. "We can afford some small luxuries these days."

"Ah, so we bought the turkey over the new silk pillows? Very good Marcus," he said with approval.

More than the usual number of goblins were about the place that evening. Marcus had them handling cutlery and setting places at the table. Matters had to be intensifying at home for so many of them to be passing through. Jareth noticed Wink eyeing the trash can. "After dinner, you can muck up," he said harshly. "At my table we eat clean enough."

Wink mumbled something, stomping away.

"I could make you bathe before you eat," he said poignantly.

At the table Marcus served a roast with mixed vegetables and mashed potatoes. For a moment the goblins studied their knives and forks, then shrugged, and began to pick at their food with their fingers. The slurps and smacks that ensued, made Jareth cringe. He exchanged glances with Marcus. Ah the sounds of home!

After a few moments Jareth raised his voice over the noise, "Attention! Attention! While you fine lot are enjoying the hard earned fruits of my labor, I want a report. Meep, Fash what news is there since you set up the Recordable Eye?"

Meeep wiped her mouth on the back of her arm. "Not much sire. It seems that the Hobnob and Lord Boring Boss have switched tactics."

Jareth' brow furrowed. "How so?"

Fash spoke, "They have stopped the opening and closing of doors and are now, well, cleaning."

The word "cleaning" had come out like a dirty word, the sort that got drudged up from the bottom of the bog. Down the table Wink slammed a fist, sloshing drinks. "More bathing," he sneered.

Jareth twirled his fork impatiently. "So have you any tangible evidence then? Have you actually recorded them saying what they are looking for?"

"No sire," replied Fash. "But remember that myself, Meep, and Wink heard them say so."

"Me too! Me too!" proclaimed Dink waving a spoon full of mashed potatoes.

Yes, but are you lot reliable enough? Will you make worthy witnesses? The lack of hard evidence was distressing to Jareth. The court, the entire fae populace had a skewed view of his subjects. He need someone non-goblin. "Perhaps," he began, leaning forward on the table. "We need to change our tactics as well. Who here knows what a double agent is?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

The following morning Sarah was late for work. When she did arrive she looked as if she hadn't slept and her hair was falling out of its tie. Jareth watched her from the corner of his eye: she laid out her work and supplies methodically, but with a lethargy that implied a great of concentration for something that should be routine.

None of my business, he argued with himself, you're getting involved with a Welch.

Sarah stared at her easel and began to absently chew her fingernails. Not understanding the reasons himself Jareth left the work area and found him self in the small break room pouring a cup of coffee. He grabbed two creamers and went back to Sarah. All right, it was a touchy situation, perhaps even a foolish situation, but he couldn't stand to see a woman cry. Even when he broke their hearts cruelly and deftly, he always had a handkerchief at the ready for their tears. It may have been morbid, but tears made him anxious. And Sarah Williams looked fit for a break down.

He nudged her shoulder with the styrofoam cup. "Most people only get birthdays once a year," he said. "Don't tell me you're stuck with two?"

She smiled thinly. "Thanks," she mumbled taking the cup.

Jareth returned to his chair and his work. Twice Sarah Williams had confided in him without invitation; when she was ready, she would again. Faintly he heard the scuffling of her shoes as she kicked them off and the rustling of paper as she began to work.

Around noon she told him that she would be taking a long lunch, and then she never returned. Jareth was weighing in his mind what her absence could be and why it mattered to him when the phone rang. "Jareth, it's Sarah. Ghads, I was afraid you wouldn't pick up. You always seem to be awkward with the phone."

"I am here. Sarah what is it?"

"Nothing, actually and everything. I just need some help. All my life I've been doing this alone, but I don't want to any more." She went on to explain that this year's curse recipient had survived and was being released from the hospital that afternoon. "She's in a wheel chair though and her apartment has only a stair well. Care to take to task three flights of stairs?"

"It's just your luck that I worked out this morning. Tell me where to meet you."

He left word with the guilt ridden cookie hoarding receptionist that he would be out the remainder of the afternoon. The city of Chandler's cooling season was more spring like than winter. The oppressive heat had eased up, and even with the threat of possible over night freezes some plants were attempting bloom. The only difference in season that made any common sense was the marked change in the sky- the blue tint of fall had deepened to a lovely azure. That and the absurd holiday decorations.

After a twenty minute taxi ride he found himself at an apartment complex similar to his own. Sarah had told him to meet her at the covered parking at the south end. By far Sarah looked more collected than she had that morning: her hair was smoothed and her eyes were bright. She waited with a woman seated comfortably in a wheel chair. Comfortable as could be expected as the woman had a wrist brace on and her left leg was raised in support as well. Both women smiled at him as he approached.

"Thank you so much Jareth," said Sarah genuinely. "This is Maria Ostango. Maria, Jareth Choblyn."

Despite all of her apparent injuries Maria Ostango radiated a positive light; an older woman who hid the marks of time well with coiffed hair and highlighting makeup. "Pleasure," she said extending her free hand.

To Jareth' amusement he saw freshly coated nail polish shine on her finger tips. He bowed politely. "Ms Ostango, I hear you need to conquer three flights of stairs."

"And I hear that you're just the man for the job. I know it'll be a beast of a task, but simply put I am ready to be among my own things again," said Maria with a dramatic wave of her hand.

"Very well my lady," replied Jareth taking hold of the chair's handles.

Had Jareth been an Arizona native he probably would have been thankful for the high eighties degree weather. Sweating never had appealed to him, especially in front of the fairer sex. With Sarah guiding the way he maneuvered Ms Ostango to her third story apartment just before he found himself embarrassingly sweating through his shirt. He looked disheveled and sincerely hoped that Sarah took no notice of his undignified state.

Ms Ostango took the bumps of the stairs with quiet determination only occasionally issuing some curse at the elevator gods and their lack of mercy. Jareth was quite certain there were no such beings nor ever had been, but if he ever learned otherwise he would sure to send his best goblin to pay them a visit.

"Refreshments are in order," declared Ms Ostango as Sarah unlocked her door. "Though I'm not sure what I have."

Sarah held the door while Jareth wheeled her friend in. "I went grocery shopping for you, Maria. I figured until your physical therapist says otherwise you and the stairs shall see very little of each other."

"You are a dear Sarah. My therapist wants to start right away, and while I admire the woman's gusto a little empathy wouldn't hurt her. Mr. Choblyn,"

"Please my lady, call me Jareth."

"Jareth steer me to the couch then. Thank you. I don't know what you've been about Sarah," she then said as Jareth helped elevate her leg. "He's polite, kind, and gentle and not to bad at physical excursion. A man like that needs to be about all the time."

Sarah mumbled something unintelligible and went to the kitchen to see about drinks. After situating Ms Ostango with another pillow, a pink thing with gaudy lace, and having given her the remote to the television Jareth followed Sarah's path. He glanced around as he moved away: there was an unhealthy amount of floral print and lace, and an odd assortment of sun catchers visible in every window. It felt as if Maria Ostango had tried to build a faux garden in the middle of the desert.

In the kitchen Sarah was taking out drinking glasses from a cupboard. He watched her for a moment and said, "It's never your fault."

Startled she looked over at him. "What?"

"These things that happen. Your friend in there. It's not your fault."

Silent she moved from the counter to the fridge, retrieved a jug of lemon aid, and returned to the counter. "She was on vacation in California. On my birthday she calls me, says she's going out on a boat and that she will see me when she gets back. A bizarre accident lands her in two different hospitals, a surgery to fix her knee, and now weeks of therapy. Yeah, how dare I feel any guilt," she said dryly.

Jareth took the jug away from her. "Listen, princess you have got to stop beating yourself up for things that are out of your control."

That and if you have a Welch, he thought anxiously, this negative attitude will only feed it.

"I doubt very much that Maria Ostango blames you," he added.

"No, I know she doesn't."

From the other room came the sound of a game show: applause and the reading of scores.

"After so many years though," said Sarah. "After it being so consistent, Jareth I don't know who else to blame. I'm cursed."

Jareth rolled his eyes. "Ever hear of self-fulfilling prophecies?"

She asked him to get the ice trays from the freezer. "Right because I made the boat tip over hundreds of miles away."

"It's not you princess," he insisted.

It was Sarah's turn to roll her eyes. The ice clanked as she dropped cubes into the glasses. She said, "Would you stop with the strange nickname already. For someone who claims I'm not their type, it's a bit odd."

"What- 'princess'?"

"Yeah." She poured the lemon aid.

Jareth smiled. "It's what your name means."

Until this moment it hadn't even registered with Jareth that he had been calling her that: princess. Apparently his subconscious was trying to define Sarah Williams.

Despite her objections Sarah actually smiled at him in return. Then she shook her head. "Well I've got to be one of the sorriest excuses for a princess there ever was. Maybe I'm one of those lost princesses, you know, kidnapped at birth."

The walls of protection were back up and she was doing something ridiculous from the battlements to cause a distraction. Jareth hummed thoughtfully. "We would need to do some experiments." He took two glasses of lemon aid. "Perhaps changing your hair a bit might lend you a more royal air."

"Would that make me more your type?"

He shrugged feigning indifference. "I've always had a thing for curls."

Moving past him she said, "Noted."

They stayed with Maria another good hour. Maria played a surrogate role with Sarah, teetering between aunt and mother. He watched as Sarah let her in easily to her personal space, dropping her defenses once more. When Maria once more pointed out that a man such as Jareth needed to around more often Sarah scowled and made excuses about her work keeping her busy enough.

"She was ever that way Jareth," said Maria. "I started telling her ten years ago: find a good looking man to distract your thoughts and you will find life a whole lot more agreeable. Tell me, are you any good at distraction?"

Jareth bit the inside of his cheek at Sarah's taken aback expression, but failed to completely hide his smile. "Personally I believe I am quite good at distraction," he replied. "But Miss Williams will have none of it."

Maria shook your head. "That's her false front."

"Indeed. Are a few thorns worth the rose?"

Maria's hand moved out to gracefully show case Sarah. "You tell me," she replied.

Sarah sighed exasperated. "So is this flirting or goading?"

"Curl your hair of an evening princess, and you will know new meanings of both words," said Jareth.

Maria clapped her hands and gave a shout of approval.

"Trouble," stated Sarah giving Maria a pointed look. She collected their glasses. "Home no more than an hour and you are causing trouble. And that would be our cue to return to work." She smiled as she turned away towards the kitchen.

Outside Sarah offered to drive them both back to the office. In the car between pondering Maria Ostango and the notion of being chauffeured by a woman, Jareth took the time to study Sarah Williams. He had to admit that her hair was a lovely shade of dark brown, near black in certain lights. And if it were curled it would frame her cheeks and chin nicely. He cocked his head forward to see her face better- she had hazel eyes. Leaning back in the seat he thought about her wearing an emerald top that would intensify her eye color and the soft cascade of curls falling on her shoulder. Sarah Williams had the potential to be remarkably stunning. Marcus would be scowling at me right now, he thought amused.


	11. Chapter 11

_(As a way of saying thank you for your patience, chapter 11 is quite long. It has been a bit hectic around these parts lately, dealing with a two year old and a recent passing of a family member. Makes finding time to write hard. That and I also participated in a lovely cosplay photo shoot for a steampunk version of Beauty and the Beast. Enjoy!)  
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**Chapter 11**

Lemmony Orwald called at the apartment the Friday of that same week. He noticeably grimaced at the plain furnishings, the lack luster of all materials, only to then raise his eyebrows in alarm at the sight of a goblin cooking in the kitchen. Jareth folded his arms across his chest and tried to communicate indifference. When he caught whiff of whatever concoction Meep was stirring in a pot, he had to cringe. His surroundings were pitiful at best.

Marcus served the two men tea at the couch. "Well Lemmony what news do you bring me?" asked Jareth.

"Jareth, old boy are you targeting this Miss Williams for an Ultimate Wish? Forgive my curiosity, but she is a complicated mortal."

Jareth sipped his tea and rolled his eyes. "Bogwater, she has a Welch doesn't she?"

"No actually she doesn't," replied Lemmony examining the tea setting. "Have you any honey Jareth? I much prefer honey in my tea than sugar cubes."

Having obtained the honey from Marcus, Jareth impatiently watched his fellow Wish Granter take a hefty spoonful for such a small cup of tea and stir laboriously. "Ahem. You said she was complicated," he said.

"I did. But no benign spirit ails her. She's an unbeliever."

An believer. Simply put it was one who did not believe, or more complicated, one who withheld belief. For certain Sarah Williams had made several snide remarks about his kindred, but most mortals however dark their plight or dull the belief, still harbored a small portion of faith. It was a component of the human nature to desire the aid or comfort of a power mightier than they. To find a person stripped bare of all hope, of faith or any wishful fancy, to be an unbeliever was a dark thing. It takes a mighty misfortune to quench what should be an intricate part of the soul.

Jareth looked up to find Lemmony scrutinizing him.

"That is most unfortunate," he said. "Did the file have any notation that would explain what happened to her?"

Lemmony nodded. "And you're not going to like it. Sarah Williams is an orphan, both parents having died before the age of ten. Surely you know what any good little orphan wishes for as they grow older?"

"A home, naturally."

"Unfortunately for Sarah Williams, a home never happened."

While balancing his tea cup in one hand, Lemmony waved his other and pulled a manila folder from the air. He opened it and spread its contents on the coffee table. "At age eight she was placed with a family, the Foresters, who for some time discussed with her social worker the prospect of adopting her, but for some reason it never happened. She became a ward of the state after that. At age eighteen she was deemed an adult. There are some brief notations about a woman named Maria Ostango, but really nothing else."

Jareth leaned over to get a closer look at the paper work. Maria Ostango's name hardly surprised him, but he wanted to read the fine print for himself. "So she never made another wish after the age of, let me see here, the age of fifteen. So young!" He saw that she had made the wish for a home several times between the ages of eight and ten, and then there was the wish at age fifteen. Sarah Williams had wished for love. A powerful wish that. The want of love by a child was perhaps the purest wish; it lacked lust and self, but commanded need and identity. Jareth took a deep breath and peered closer at the writing. "Lemmony, there isn't a Granter on Response listed for this last wish. Who was the GOR?" he asked.

Lemmony poured more honey in his tea. "That is what you are not going to like. Mary from the Wish Department had to make several inquiries to find that out. The GOR was Frederic Wobble."

Jareth set his tea cup down and stood up, agitation rippling through him. His mind was a white slate- he couldn't list or define anything. "You're joking," he finally said.

"Afraid not, old boy."

"And the out come of this wish failure?"

"It's listed as 'inconclusive', not failed. You know what sort of wish she made, how it generally plays out. She fixated on a concept, not a person, not an object; it may very well be one of the most powerful wishes, but it is also the hardest to grant."

Jareth shook his head and took another deep breath. He forced his mind to list what he knew: Orwald was in league with Hobnob and both were currently ransacking his home in hopes of finding the Great Goblin Horde. Hobnob had banished him to the mundane realm only to be met by his cohort's failed wisher Sarah Williams. "Blast," he exclaimed. "Blast and bogwater!" How was it connected? Was it all connected? The Fates help him, it made his head hurt.

The phone range. Startled Jareth realized the receiver was off the hook and sitting idly on the arm of the couch. He answered it. "Hello?" he asked brusquely. "Oh, Miss Williams. Excuse me. How are you today?"

Lemmony raised his eyebrows in surprise at the mention of her name.

Jareth moved to his bed chamber and shut the door. Sarah was telling him about Maria Ostango. "And how does she fair since Monday?" he asked.

"She fairs quite well. Her physical therapy starts next week for her leg. She's throwing herself a good luck dinner tomorrow evening and she wants you to be there."

"Me?"

"Apparently she took quite the shine to you."

Jareth laughed. Either that or Maria Ostango had ulterior motives. An evening to gain further understanding of Sarah Williams would be an evening well spent. "I would be delighted to come," he said.

"Good," she replied, her inflections suggesting a smile. "I will let her know. It's nothing fancy, just a casual dinner. You know it wouldn't be out of my way to pick you up," she then said.

He agreed. After saying goodbye he stood a moment in thought. What sort of woman would Maria Ostango prove to be? He wondered how she had come into Sarah's life and what bond had kept the two of them close. Sarah Williams may be an unbeliever, but her friend could very well be a different story.

Out in the living room again he asked Lemmony to leave the file on Sarah Williams. "I find the matter most curious," he said pouring himself a fresh cup of tea. "And I should like to know if certain parties mean me more harm."

Lemmony hemmed. "I do believe I can conjure up some business that would require me to seek out the Honorable Hobnob. After all an incomplete wish file is… messy book keeping."

Jareth considered his proposal. Lemmony was just who he wanted as his double agent. "And what would you require in return for this bit of business?"

"As it is you have all ready promised your two top wishers to me," said Lemmony standing. "When all of this is settled I might have a wish or two of my own that will need granting."

Jareth thought hurriedly through the contents of his recently acquired wish manual. Since granters could not personally benefit from a wish they could make wishes themselves provided the motives and contents did not interfere with their work. "A rather unheard of request," he said slowly. "But not unlawful. Very well Lemmony, you have me further in your debt."

"Yes," said Lemmony with a certain dryness. "For your sake I do hope you're being honest." He left.

Jareth told Marcus that he was attending a work related gathering and then gave a vague explanation about a possibility of an Ultimate Wish being granted. His hooded eyes seemed to suggest he knew otherwise, but Marcus politely thanked his master for an evening off. Wearing if not high quality at least well creased slacks and a newly purchased dusty blue button down shirt Jareth waited for Sarah at the entrance to the apartment complex.

The cool evening air was calming. Lights like colonies of roaming fairies began to light up the neighborhood as the sun finished its descent. He could smell a variety of dinners being prepared and the ever present exhaust fumes from the near by traffic made for an interesting nightly perfume.

Absently he ran a hand along the side of his hand smoothing his hair and adjusted his shirt. Part of him wondered what Sarah was wearing tonight, whether she had curled her hair or not. Jareth knew that at one moment he frustrated her and yet in the next moment found him compelling enough to confide in him. The constant teetering often made it unclear whether she was flirting or merely being friendly. He shook his head. Sarah Williams met none of the criteria for a successful wish. He had to stop thinking about her so much.

After she pulled up and let him into the car, he saw by the dome light that her hair wasn't curled. She had opted to leave it down, falling past her shoulders, held away from her eyes with a thin silver head band. He decided he liked the change from the ever constant ponytail.

She handed him a plain brown paper sack that had moments ago occupied the passenger's seat. A quick glance revealed a bottle of wine. "Ah," he said. "Planning on getting me drunk are you?"

Sarah executed a uturn before responding. "Yes. Nothing says seduction like a cheap bottle of wine."

"My grandfather is always warning me of women's wiles."

She laughed. "You have me figured out Mr. Choblyn. Maria and I are planning on getting you thoroughly plastered on a single bottle of wine and then proceed to have our wicked way with you."

Jareth grinned. Hefting the bag he said, "Here's to seduction by a cripple and her friend!"

At the apartment Maria greeted them in a simple black dress and a massive knee and foot brace. She leaned on a cane. In turn she kissed both of them on the cheek and complimented their attire. "A fine couple indeed," she teased.

Jareth saw a slight blush on Sarah's cheeks. She brushed some nonexistent hair from her eyes and headed towards the kitchen.

"It's all been catered as well you know," Maria called after her tersely. She met Jareth' eyes. "You look amazing in blue. You must always wear blue when you come to see me. What have you got there?" she asked indicating the bag.

"Sarah's contribution for the evening. I believe she intends to take advantage of me," he said in mock offense.

"No sense in wasting time about it. There are glasses set out on the table. There's a good lad." She gently shoved him along.

Wit their help Maria's good luck dinner was soon arranged on a small table in the middle of her living room. Supported by pillows and half reclining on the couch Maria was the perfect picture of a grand dame. She raised her glass theatrically and pronounced that the good luck was about to commence. She remarked that she had lived through too much to let life get her down now, that a broken leg was only a challenge to conquer and that her greatest adventure was yet still on the horizon. Sarah toasted back with, "To the greatest adventure!" It was spoken like a pledge.

Jareth endeavored to learn more about Maria Ostango. What twists and turns had her life taken, what tribulations as well as exaltations had she passed through, molding her into the person she was today? Her attitude towards her accident had been near impassive: it happened, therefore I live with it. He watched as she rubbed her thumb and pointer finger together repetitively as if there was a small irritation there on the skin. There wasn't a wedding ring or any sign of a tan a line where one might have been.

Maria said something clever that made Sarah laugh. The sound drew Jareth' attention. While she obviously was enjoying the company and was merry Sarah Williams did not exude any of the tendencies or traits of a woman who was trying to be the center of attention. She neither touched him unnecessarily nor drew purposeful attention to her own attributes. This relieved Jareth. Despite the complications she could prove most useful. If Maria Ostango was worthy of an Ultimate Wish then she would be key in continuing access to the woman.

The dinner over Sarah gathered the few plates and said, "I'll go put the coffee on."

Jareth watched as Maria passed a hand over her forehead. Her hand had a small tremor and moisture shined on her skin. "Jareth, my dear, hand me that little black case will you? The one next to the television."

The case held a small instrument about the length of a thumb, a vial of clear liquid and several capped syringes. Maria removed the thumb sized instrument and pressing it to her finger tip produced a beeping noise. Whatever it meant displeased her: her mouth went down at first in a frown and then puckered. Uncertainty crossed her features and she repeated the process on her opposite hand.

"Diabetes," she said noticing his quizzical stare. "is a most annoying thing. It is the main reason it has taken me two months to back home among my own things."

"The test displeases you?" he asked nodding towards her fingers.

"You could say. I all ready had my insulin dosage before dinner, but my numbers are still high. Don't say anything to Sarah," she quickly added. "She'll start worrying and get hung up on her 'curse'. Stuff and nonsense."

"Should she be worrying? Maria I give you my word that I won't say anything, but this doesn't strike me as a thing to be taken lightly."

"Don't play knight in shining armor with me. I'm too old for you to be overly concerned with."

Jareth smiled. Maria had no earthly idea of his age. "There would be very few complaints. I think we'd be charming together."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Listen when a woman reaches my age she may not care about what people think, but she should know what will make her happy and what would be just plain silly. Stupid even! If I were ten years younger I might be saying different. You're one smooth talker with enough charm and good looks to be a tabloids dream."

Jareth was laughing now thoroughly amused at her honesty. "Maria I could kiss you despite your objections."

"Yes, well, come and see me if things don't go well with Miss Williams." She laughed. She batted his arm playfully and suddenly took on a bit of reserve. "Oh you remind me of my first husband. He could make me say the darndst things. Yes, I have been married twice. George was my head long rush of a romance. We met, were engaged, and married all within two months."

"Impulsive," noted Jareth.

"Stupid. I admit it. We had five adventurous years together, half of them fighting, the other half making up." She smiled at the memory.

"What happened?" Jareth found himself envisioning some desperate, romantic mishap: George was felled by an enemy solider or he was caught in a collapsed mine out of which depths he had just aided in rescuing two small children.

"His heart gave out; some malady that had gone unchecked. George didn't believe in doctors. If he felt fine then he was fine. Unlike Luke, my second husband. He was in the closest waiting room at the sound of a cough."

Sarah came back with a tray bearing a plate of cookies and condiments for the coffee. "Thank goodness for Luke," she said. "You probably wouldn't even know by now that you are diabetic had it not been for him getting you checked out."

"God bless the little hypochondriac," said Maria raising her glass in salute.

Later as Sarah drove him back to the apartment Jareth once more found himself looking at her, weighing her against every courtier he had ever known. There was too much at stake to ignore even the simplest of coincidences. That and he couldn't deny he liked Sarah Williams. Ignorant of his true self she made requests of him based on what he chose to share. By all appearances, she confided in him and asked things of him because she liked him. As an immediate reaction the thought rather pleased Jareth. He glanced at her highlighted by the dashboard lights, humming softly to herself. To be liked not for his powers, but for who he was unnerved him. He looked away before she would be aware of his stare.

She pulled the car alongside the curb. "Thanks for coming tonight," she said looking at him. "Maria really enjoys your company."

"To receive pleasure from; to have the benefit of: enjoy. I do hope you found me satisfactory as well?" he asked in response. Perhaps he had indeed had too much of the cheap wine or his nerves were getting the better of him, but he needed to know.

"Yes, I did," she said softly. Quickly she turned away to study some invisible detail on the wind shield. "Even though you refused to get drunk and let yourself be taken advantage of."

Jareth laughed. "No, you missed your chance, princess. Though had Maria but asked," he let his sentence trail.

Instead of blushing Sarah's brow creased and then she shook her head and forced a laugh. "Oh my," was all she said.

With a smirk Jareth undid his seat belt and made to exit the car. "Thank you Miss Williams for a lovely evening."

She looked at him once more, her smile tamer now. "Thank you Mr Choblyn. What is it?" she then asked as Jareth' eyes focused on something beyond her. Coming along at a casual pace, hands shoved deep in a light weight coat was his valet. Through the driver's side window Marcus had caught sight of him.

"That would be my granddad," said Jareth with a sigh. A full minute sooner, out of the car and heading towards his door, Marcus would never have seen them.

Sarah asked, "You live with your granddad?"

Jareth raised an eyebrow. "I find him useful to have about." Most of the time, he added in his thoughts.

He had Sarah get out of the car so he could make proper introductions. There was no sense in trying to back pedal or make excuses. He would have to present Sarah Williams for what she was and pray that his valet would be understanding. Of course, how to explain Sarah Williams? She was a woman. And Jareth was supposed to have sworn women off.

"Sarah Williams this is my granddad, Marcus," said Jareth.

Marcus took her extended hand and bow over it, the polite court way to greet a woman. "A pleasure young lady. Dinner went well?"

"Oh yes," said Sarah smiling pleasantly unaware. "Maria only caters the best."

"Maria?" asked Marcus raising his brow.

Jareth read the depths of that expression in an instant: not only had he been misleading about his night's intent, he had also dined with not one, but two women.

"Our hostess," he replied. "Maria Ostango was our gracious hostess. It was a sort of celebratory dinner."

"Maria likes to surround herself with positive energy, good mojo," explained Sarah. "She recently suffered some misfortune. We went over to cheer her up."

"She must be a very worthy friend," said Marcus. "Well if you will excuse me Miss Williams, it is rather chilly out and I should head in doors."

"I should as well," said Jareth. He raised her hand and bowed over it. "Thank you again prin-Sarah, I mean, Miss Williams, and I will see you on Monday."

"Goodnight."

"Drive safely," said Marcus.

The two men turned to walk away as her car pulled from the curb. Jareth was unsure how much to explain or for that matter if he should say anything at all. His servant's face had gone rather serene. In silence they approached their apartment. Finally Jareth felt compelled to say something. "Maria Ostango is worth of an Ultimate Wish."

"Excellent," said Marcus.

"And Sarah is instrumental in establishing a relationship with her."

"Very good my lord."

Having reached the door Marcus retrieved his keys and inserted them in the lock. Jareth looked on puzzled at his lack of reaction, his coolness. "You're not mad at me?" he asked tentatively.

Marcus paused briefly. "No sir," he said.

Jareth felt his mouth fall open. He watched Marcus open the door and pass inside. Had he fallen asleep in Sarah's car? Had the two women actually succeeded in getting him inebriated?

Marcus was back at the doorway looking at his master. "Sarah Williams seems like a decent young lady."

"She is," agreed Jareth.

"We should have her over for dinner."

Jareth stood dumbfounded. Marcus should have been mad or at least perturbed. Sensing that the atmosphere had gotten a bit too surreal, Jareth reached over and pinched his own arm. It hurt. He was awake. From inside he could hear Marcus' concerned tone, asking him to come in out of the chill. Unable to make sense of it Jareth went in.


End file.
